#How to end my extramarital affair

[theastrotree]

How to Stop Extra Marital Affairs

As you know, society is changing faster and the thinking of people is also changing with it. At present, Extramarital affairs are very common and a large number of couples are facing this kind of problem in their love relationship. An extramarital affair can be a big reason for a Breakup in any relationship. Whether it is about your partner or lover, you never want to face the situation of an…

[weemssapphic]

Hi how are you? I hope well! so i really like your writing actually ur my fav writer here on tumblr ;). So i had this idea for a fanfic by Miranda Hilmarson x reader. It was about Miranda being a traffic cop sometimes too and then she ends up giving the reader a ticket in one day and the reader gets really mad and even fights with Miranda, and then they end up meeting again, but what Miranda didn't know was that the reader would be her new boss!! From there I leave it to you, it can even be an enemies to lovers, you know.

I just had this silly idea, maybe you'll like it and I'd be super happy if you wrote it.💗

another thing! English is not my language, I'm literally writing this through Google translator so if something seems strange to you, you already know ☠️

A/N: thank you sooo much, that is so kind of you! I really liked this request and enjoyed writing it - it's my first time writing for Miranda so I really hope it's okay <3 just gonna post this and go hide now ahhhh

not your fault

Words: ~7.4k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: slight enemies to lovers, mentions of Adrian Butler (ugh), reader has a temper - poor Miranda is on the receiving end, mentions of cigarettes and alcohol, employee-boss relationship, angry Miranda, but also adorable puppy Miranda, nsfw (smut) - vaginal fingering, cunnilingus

“Are you fucking kidding me…” You groaned under your breath as you snatched up the little piece of paper stuck between your windshield wipers - a parking ticket. You were already running late thanks to your cat having puked all over your carpet that morning, and thanks to the barista at the coffee shop who’d taken ages with your latte - and now you were going to be even later.

You whipped your head around, looking for the officer who’d given you the ticket. A tall, blonde woman in a police uniform was strolling down the line of parked cars, handing out tickets to each one. The officer turned as you stomped over, eyes widening as you advanced on her until you were standing right in front of her. You had to crane your neck up to look at her - in any other situation, you might have found this insanely arousing, but right now you were far too pissed.

“Care to explain this?” You waved the paper in her face - she went slightly cross-eyed as her eyes followed your movements. 

“Uh, that’s a parking ticket, ma’am.” The officer swallowed visibly, taking a step back.

“I park here every goddamn day,” you hissed.

“I’m sorry…” She seemed a bit dazed and distracted for a moment as she regarded you, her eyes darting between your own, before straightening her posture and clearing her throat. “There’s, uh, a festival downtown this weekend, they’ve closed most of the parking zones until it’s over. There’s a sign at the start of the road.” She nodded her head over to a single sign set up at the next intersection, one that you had clearly missed in your rush.

You were seething, a billion arguments ready on your tongue, but the clock was ticking - and in the end, she was right, no matter how pissed you were.

“You know what, fucking forget it. I’m already running late! Thanks for nothing.” You stomped back to your car and crumpled up the parking ticket, tossing it on the passenger seat and groaning in frustration - the officer stood rooted to the spot, watching as you drove away.

~~~

Not wanting to get a speeding ticket in addition to your parking ticket, you took your time driving to the police station for your first day on the job. You’d just moved to Sydney to replace Adrian Butler as he left his position to “focus on his marriage” - you hadn’t even started yet and had already heard rumors of his extramarital affair with a constable. Men are pigs, you thought as you strode into the station and took the elevator up to the third floor, half an hour later than you’d planned.

The room was buzzing when you walked in but as soon as you cleared your throat and made your presence known, everyone went silent.

“I’ll spare you all the usual ‘first day’ speech - you should know who I am. I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other well over the course of the coming weeks, but for now I already have my hands full with everything that Detective Sergeant Butler so generously left for me.”

Your eyes landed on an empty desk near the center of the room. “Who usually sits there? Are they out sick?”

Some of the men began to snicker - one in particular answered your question. “Oh, that’s Hilmarson.” He smirked and took a sip from his coffee mug as he leaned against the side of the copy machine.

You raised an eyebrow. “And? Where is Constable Hilmarson?”

The elevator doors opened behind you and you turned around, eyes widening as you were confronted with the tall, blonde officer who’d given you a ticket. Her own shocked expression mirrored yours.

“That’d be her.” The man - Constable Brown, you’d later come to learn - chuckled, his smirk widening.

“Constable.” You glared pointedly at Constable Hilmarson. “My office, now.”

She frowned and followed you to the small office at the side of the room. You closed the door behind her and took a seat behind your new desk, gesturing for the officer to sit. She scrambled rather clumsily towards the chair and sat down, looking like a child about to be reprimanded.

“Constable Hilmarson, is it? Miranda?” You regarded her carefully. Her cheeks were rosy with embarrassment, her eyes wide as saucers. And, God, were they blue. They were mesmerizing. Miranda bobbed her head up and down in answer to your question, a bit of her pale blonde hair falling in her eye. She raised a hand to her head, dragging long fingers through her hair to brush it back - you had to physically shake your head to stop yourself from getting distracted by her movements.

“I like to be prepared, Constable. So I was having a look at your file the other day, you see, and I was under the impression that you are currently on a homicide case with Detective Griffin. Or am I mistaken?”

“Yes - I mean, no, you’re not mistaken.” Miranda shook her head furiously. 

“Then pray tell, Constable - why on earth did you spend your morning handing out fucking parking tickets?” You couldn’t keep the venom out of your voice as you questioned Miranda - something about her was pissing you off (or maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t even been able to drink your coffee yet), and you were having trouble reigning in your emotions.

Miranda’s face was bright red and her hands shook slightly. “I lost a bet,” she mumbled, unable to meet your gaze.

“Louder.”

She cleared her throat, her eyes locking with yours. “I lost a bet. I had to take over Constable Brown’s duties for the morning.”

You sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I’m not here to play games. Do you understand that?” Your voice was sickly sweet, bordering on condescension - it was not lost on Miranda, who was starting to look like she wanted to argue.

Evidently, she thought better of it at the last second, for she simply nodded as she glowered at you.

“You’re here to do your job, not Constable Brown’s job. And I expect you to do your job well. So, seeing as you’ve not only made me late, wasted your entire morning, and wasted even more of my time with this silly conversation, I would appreciate it if you could get to work. Now.”

Miranda stood abruptly, sending a stack of papers flying from your desk as she stormed from the room. You rubbed your temples, wincing at the force with which she closed the door behind her - you were already starting to develop a headache, and it wasn’t even 10 am.

~~~

As the morning went on, you found yourself growing more and more agitated, unable to focus on anything. You realized as your stomach growled for the fourth (or was it the fifth?) time that, in your rush, you’d skipped breakfast. 

The second the clock hit 12 for your lunch break, you were on your feet. You’d have to work through much of your break to catch up, but you could afford to take a few minutes to grab a coffee and a granola bar from the vending machines in the lobby.

Passing by Miranda’s desk, you noticed that her chair was empty - the sight made your blood boil. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down - it was her lunch break, too, and she had every right to leave her desk during that time. Her messy, cluttered desk… You clenched your fists and headed for the elevator.

That wasn’t the only time her desk was empty, however. Throughout the afternoon, you would look up from your paperwork (you found that Adrian had been terrible at properly filing paperwork, making your job that much harder) every so often - and more times than not, the constable was nowhere in sight. With a frustrated sigh, you stood and strode over to open the window - you desperately needed the fresh air if you were going to make it home without strangling someone.

The sight of Miranda smoking a cigarette in the alley next to the station, just under your window, had you clenching your jaw, nostrils flaring. You couldn’t help yourself - you immediately headed towards the elevator and took rapid steps out of the station, rounding the corner and advancing on the constable, whose back was turned to you.

“Hilmarson!” you barked - Miranda flinched as she turned to face you.

“What did I do now? Am I not allowed to smoke or something?” She sounded agitated, and that made you even angrier.

“This is your fourth smoke break in the past two hours alone. If your habits are going to get in the way of your job, then I suggest you-”

“You know, you’re really stressing me out!” Miranda yelled back, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. “I’ll do my damned job, okay? You’re just really not making it easy.”

You laughed - it was hollow and sarcastic - and took a step closer to Miranda. Your face was inches away from hers now - this close, your eyes were drawn to her lips, soft and plush, trembling slightly with anger. A little scar adorned her top lip and your gaze lingered there for a moment, arousal pooling in your core - until Miranda brought the cigarette back to her mouth to take a drag.

Torn from your trance, you plucked it from her grip and dropped it to the ground, crushing it with your boot.

“Talk to me like that again and I’m sending you home for the rest of the day. Now get back upstairs.”

Miranda pushed roughly past you, her shoulder bumping into yours as she headed back into the station. You leaned against the wall and let out a loud groan, your eyes fluttering shut. Why was Miranda determined to make your day as difficult as humanly possible? 

With a heavy sigh, you opened your eyes and pushed off the wall, following the constable back inside.

~~~

Your second day on the job started out significantly better than your first. You managed to eat breakfast, get coffee, and make it to work on time, all without getting a parking ticket or arguing with a certain constable. Miranda had been at her desk when you’d walked past it and, mercifully, hadn’t said a word to you - though you could feel her eyes on you as you disappeared into your office.

When you left your office for your lunch break, you found the main office empty - you figured most of your officers were taking their lunch break as well. You strode over to the little kitchen, reaching for the handle when the door swung open in your face - your body colliding with a much taller one. You heard a gasp above you and looked up to see Miranda standing directly in front of you, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock.

It was then that you realized your shirt suddenly felt a bit wet - your eyes fell to the half-empty bowl in Miranda’s hand, then to your torso, which was covered in milk and little pieces of cereal.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” you growled, pushing past Miranda and ignoring the apologies that poured profusely from her mouth. You grabbed a fistful of paper towels and dabbed at your shirt, quickly realizing that it was no use - you’d have to get changed.

You spun around when you felt a hand on your arm, glaring up at Miranda who looked down at you apprehensively. At your furious expression, she pulled her hand away as if burned. “Do you need help?”

Sighing, you closed your eyes and attempted to reign in your temper. “No,” you grit out. “It’s fine, you’ve done enough. I just have to go home to get changed, I guess.”

“Well if you don’t have a shirt with you then you can borrow mine?”

Your eyes flew open, meeting Miranda’s soft gaze before flickering down to her torso. “W-what?”

“I mean, I have an extra shirt in my locker.” Miranda gestured back towards the elevator with her thumb, a faint smirk playing upon her lips - the fact that you had just basically ogled her chest was not lost on her, apparently.

You could feel your cheeks turn red and you looked down at your own shirt, clinging to your chest - it had turned slightly see-through, and you could see your bra through the thin fabric. The drive home would cost you your entire lunch break, and Miranda did owe you for this… You sighed heavily.

“Yeah, sure.”

Miranda smiled, her eyes lighting up and crinkling at the outer corners - it was the first time you’d seen her properly smile, and it was beautiful. She crossed the kitchen and peered out the door into the office.

“The coast is clear,” she said with a grin, gesturing for you to follow her. You rolled your eyes and the two of you headed down to the empty locker rooms.

“I always bring something to change into after work,” Miranda supplied as she busied herself with opening her locker. “It might be a bit big on you but at least nobody will be able to see your bra.”

You started to unbutton your shirt, feeling Miranda’s eyes on you as you did so. It was hard to focus with the constable in such close proximity - you struggled with the buttons as you found yourself growing more and more flustered.

“Here, let me help,” she murmured, and before you could stop her, her hands were on the buttons of your shirt. Her fingers brushed against the swell of your chest, just above the fabric of your bra, and you shivered visibly, your mouth going dry.

“T-thanks but I got it,” you mumbled, gently pushing Miranda’s hand away. “Could you turn around?”

Miranda furrowed her brow, her face flushing. “Oh, sorry!” She placed a baby blue t-shirt on the bench next to you, then turned and studied the bare wall with great interest as you got changed.

“You can turn around again,” you said, clearing your throat. Miranda did as she was told, her eyes getting stuck on your chest for a moment before meeting your gaze. Your anger had all but dissipated, replaced with an unfamiliar and somewhat unsettling tension as you looked at Miranda, your stomach flipping.

“Uh, thanks,” you whispered. “For the shirt.”

Miranda’s lips curled up into a smile. “Yeah, of course. You know, I’m really excited to have another woman on the force. Last night I was looking into your case in Auckland before you got promoted - I talked to Robin about it, even she was impressed.”

For once, you were left speechless. For all the crap you’d given Miranda since meeting her, she seemed so genuine and excited to be speaking with you in that moment - you could feel yourself get flustered again, and all you could do was nod your head as she spoke.

“Oh, my lunch break is over so I have to go meet Robin but, uh, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You nodded absentmindedly, stuck on the way Miranda’s hands moved as she spoke and the brightness of her eyes. She shot you one last grin before turning and taking long strides out of the locker rooms, leaving you to stand there in a daze, holding your wet shirt.

~~~

It was finally Friday and you’d been invited to go to the bar for drinks after work to celebrate the end of your first week - you stood in the lobby of the station, waiting for Robin to join your group before heading out. 

Since the little cereal incident, you were trying to actively avoid thinking about, looking at, or talking to Miranda, but she was making that damned near impossible. When you’d returned her shirt back to her, freshly washed, she made sure to allow her fingers to brush against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. She wasn’t at her desk much throughout the day, off investigating leads with Robin, and for that you were grateful - but every time you saw her desk, littered with empty takeout containers, paperwork, coffee mugs, you felt a twinge of annoyance, followed by a sinking feeling of guilt that you couldn’t quite place. As a result, you spent much more time than you wanted sitting at your desk, dissecting your feelings for the blonde but coming up empty.

The door to the station opened and a civilian walked in with a small goldendoodle on a leash. A gasp sounded to your right and you couldn’t help yourself - your eyes followed the sound just in time to see Miranda crouch down and extend her arms towards the dog, which jumped excitedly up at her, trying to lick her face. 

You couldn’t tell who was more excited about the interaction - Miranda, or the dog. The blonde was letting out little squeals of delight, cooing at the dog as she buried her fingers in its fur.

“Pull yourself together, Constable,” you grumbled, annoyed mostly at yourself for the way your stomach was reacting to the sight of Miranda cuddling the dog. It was childish and unprofessional… You most definitely did not think it was cute. Not even a little bit, no… You blushed and looked away as Miranda stood up, missing the look of disappointment in her puppy-like eyes.

After that, though, you found you couldn’t even enjoy getting drinks with your colleagues - your mind was going in circles and you were unable to shake off this weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You sat at a booth near the back of the bar, nursing a beer as everyone around you joked around and slowly got drunk. 

You couldn’t keep your gaze from wandering towards Miranda, who was seated at the opposite end of the table. She sipped her beer, smiling occasionally at something one of the others said - your eyes, once again, got stuck on her smile. The upward quirk of her lips, the subtle scrunch of her nose, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. When she caught you staring, however, she quickly looked away, the smile sliding right off her face.

It affected you more than you would care to let on - as soon as her smile was gone, you wished for it back - desperately. And it was stupid, really - she’d somehow managed to sour your mood every single day this week, and yet your body was reacting to her in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. With a sigh, you drained your beer and ordered a second one - this was going to be a long night.

~~~

If you’d thought your second week on the job would start better than the first, well - you’d quickly find out just how wrong you were.

Monday morning started like any other - you strode into the office with your coffee to-go cup, passing by Miranda’s empty desk. There was a half-empty bowl of cereal at the edge, stacks of manila folders and paperwork strewn over the surface, an empty, crumpled paper bag from the local bakery that had been tossed unceremoniously onto the computer keyboard. It stirred up a twinge of annoyance in you, but you tried your best to shake off the feeling.

Looking up and seeing the blonde standing at the coffee machine in the kitchen, you quickly averted your gaze and hurried to your office.

Your mind began to wander as you answered your emails and a flash of blonde through the window in your office caught your eye. Miranda walked back to her seat, a mug in her hand. She reached her desk and distractedly looked up, talking enthusiastically with Robin as she placed the mug down on a teetering pile of papers.

You looked on in horror as the pile slowly toppled over, spilling coffee all over her desk - you couldn’t bear to watch anymore, dropping your head into your hands in frustration as you heard Miranda let out a gasp.

Not my problem, you thought, trying to take steadying breaths. It wasn’t your desk that she’d spilled her coffee on, after all. 

You stood and made your way to your office door, calling out for Robin.

“Yeah?”

“Did you manage to get a copy of the autopsy results already? I really need them.”

Robin shifted slightly from foot to foot, a frown growing on her face - you really didn’t like the look of that.

“Actually, I sent Miranda to get them this morning.”

Raising an eyebrow, you looked past Robin at her colleague, who was frantically wiping up the spilled coffee from her desk. “Hilmarson, can I get those autopsy results?”

Miranda looked up, freezing in her movements. Her eyes darted between you and her desk and her cheeks were rapidly turning pink. “They, uh… Got a bit soggy.” She strode over to you with a piece of paper in her hand. You took it gingerly, a look of disgust forming on your face as the entire thing was brown and dripping wet.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you growled. Miranda shrugged sheepishly and muttered out an apology - you glared at her in return. “I need you to get me a fresh copy by this afternoon.”

Miranda opened her mouth to speak but you interrupted her, balling your hand into a fist and crumpling up the paper, tossing it on her desk. “And tidy your fucking desk like a grown up,” you snarled.

Miranda’s face was red as she turned sharply on her heel and stormed out of the office, taking large strides towards the elevators and disappearing from view. 

“She grows on you,” Robin supplied quietly, watching you watch Miranda. You snorted.

“I doubt it.” Your stomach churned uncomfortably even as you said those words. Why did this woman have such an effect on you?

“She’s been having a rough time, ever since the breakup with Adrian.” Your eyes widened at this piece of information - you’d known about Adrian’s affair, of course, but you’d never thought it would be with Miranda. “They were going to have a baby together, you know.”

You coughed, choking on your own saliva. “They what?” You couldn’t picture Miranda as a mother - she was far too clumsy and chaotic… and goofy. And generous. Okay, maybe you could picture it, a little bit. Your stomach churned uncomfortably - you didn’t know the details of the affair, but breakups were rough - you’d moved across the country after your last breakup. You suddenly felt ashamed for being such a bitch to her. 

“Yeah, well…” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “I have a lot of work to do, so if you don’t mind…” You forced a smile and Robin raised her eyebrows, nodding and leaving you be. You tried to focus after that but you couldn’t, your mind wandering quite insistently to a certain constable. Guilt began to gnaw at your insides after having been so harsh with her. You’d have to - you wanted to - apologize for your behavior.

You locked yourself in your office and finished replying to your emails. Even half an hour later, Miranda was still not at her desk - nor was she in the kitchen, the locker rooms, or the alley under your window. You finally found her behind the station, looking out over the water and smoking a cigarette. 

“Hey,” you called, your heart clenching when you saw Miranda flinch as she turned to face you.

“Oh fuck. Look, I’m sorry, okay, I-”

“I’m the one who should apologize. Robin told me it was you.”

Miranda’s face scrunched up in confusion. She dropped her cigarette and took a step towards you. “Sorry?”

“You know, with Adrian.”

Recognition flooded Miranda’s features and she dropped her gaze to the pavement. “Oh.” She let out a hollow chuckle and turned again, walking towards the water and lowering herself to sit at the edge. You followed and took a seat next to her, leaving a healthy distance between the two of you. 

“Men are pigs, you know?” Miranda said after a moment’s silence. A loud snort escaped your lips, causing Miranda to laugh - you hadn’t heard her laugh so freely before, but it made your heart soar and you thought it might be your new favorite sound in the world. It wasn’t quite melodic, not necessarily akin to birdsong - it was loud and unabashed and very Miranda, and for some reason you found you really liked that. You couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“You’re alright, you know that, Hilmarson?” you said with a grin, gently bumping your shoulder into hers. Miranda’s laughter slowly died out but the smile remained on her face, accompanied by a faint blush.

“Thanks. You are, too.”

~~~

“Hilmarson.” You slung your jacket over your shoulder as you strode past Miranda’s desk the following day around noon. Her eyes grew wide and she dropped the pen she was holding, straightening her posture. “Come with me.”

Miranda scrambled to get up, slipping her phone into her pocket and following you to the elevators and out of the building. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, confusion evident in her tone as she scurried after you. You bypassed the parking lot, heading down the street instead.

“You’ll see,” you said with a smirk, wordlessly offering Miranda a cigarette. She fumbled around in her pocket for a lighter but you were quicker, holding up your own. “Hold still,” you murmured, holding the lighter up to her cigarette and lighting it for her, your eyes catching on the way her long, slender fingers held it, as if it were a delicate thing. 

Your destination was a nearby coffee shop, and you held the door open for Miranda to step through. “After you,” you purred, smirking at Miranda’s wide eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she scrambled into the cafe, waiting awkwardly for you at the counter.

“It’s on me,” you said before ordering yourself a latte and a sandwich. “Get anything you like.”

Minutes later, you were sitting together at a little table in the corner.

“Look,” you started with a sigh. Miranda tilted her head. “Can we start over? I haven’t exactly been fair to you. You aren’t the reason I was late last week. I was angry and took it out on you, and that was really shitty of me.”

“I did spill cereal all over your shirt, though,” Miranda murmured with a sheepish grin, her cheeks turning adorably rosy.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” you said with a laugh. “That’s not the point, though. You’re too good to let yourself get walked all over, you know that?”

Miranda shrugged, unable to fully meet your gaze and focusing instead on her panini, out of which she took a huge bite.

“Not by me, not by Constable Brown, not by Adrian - you’re a solid officer and you have potential, you just need to stand your ground more.”

“Oh god,” Miranda spoke through a full mouth, her voice slightly garbled, her eyes wide. “Is this a performance review or something?”

You laughed, your stomach flipping as her blush deepened. “No. I just…” You hesitated, biting your lip and looking away. I just really like you. “I just wanted to apologize. I want us to work together, not against each other.”

“Really?” Miranda grinned, her eyes sparkling - the hope written across her face nearly made your heart stop, and you nodded. “I was so scared when I found out you were my new boss. I really thought you hated me.”

“I did, too,” you said with a laugh. “But… for the record, I don’t. I hope you don’t hate me.” 

Miranda’s cheeks puffed out as she chewed and she smiled widely. “I don’t.”

~~~

Ever since your lunch “date”, your feelings for Miranda were only growing. Your heart skipped a beat when you caught sight of her at the station, your stomach fluttered when you heard her voice. You even found yourself timing your smoke breaks with hers, just so you would have an excuse to chat with her and bask in her presence.

The following Friday at the bar, Miranda chose to sit down next to you. She placed a beer in front of you and offered you a wide smile - you felt your face flush as you muttered out an uncharacteristically shy “thank you”.

The two of you listened to your colleagues talk and banter - or rather, perhaps Miranda was listening, but you definitely weren’t. You were far too focused on the constable and your close proximity to one another; the way her shoulder bumped yours every so often, the way her hand flexed around her beer bottle, the way her throat bobbed whenever she took a sip.

Miranda laughed, throwing her head back, her shoulders shaking. She looked to the side, meeting your gaze - you couldn’t help but grin giddily back at her, chuckling a bit, and you could see her cheeks turn red as she returned your grin. 

After your third beer, you started to feel a little daring - you placed your hand gingerly on her thigh, your touch feather light as you were afraid of crossing a line. To your surprise, Miranda placed her own hand on top of yours - it was warm and soft and large, and you could feel your pulse pick up as her long fingers curled slightly around yours. When you dared to steal a glance in her direction, you could see a soft smile playing upon her lips.

~~~

“Hey.” A low voice coming from the doorway to your office caused you to look up from your laptop. A smile involuntarily spread across your face seeing Miranda leaning awkwardly against the doorframe, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Hi,” you replied - Miranda hadn’t come into your office proactively since you’d started working at the station, but you supposed a lot had changed in the past few days. “Do you need something?”

Miranda shook her head. “No, I, uh, I actually wanted to ask if you’d want to come over to my place for a beer or something tonight?”

“Oh.” A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach at the prospect of spending one-on-one time with the blonde - who was looking increasingly like she was about to throw up, the longer you took to reply. “Yeah, yes, I would love to.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “Okay, great. I’ll send you my address. How’s 7?”

“7 is perfect,” you said with a growing blush, chuckling as Miranda rushed back to her desk to grab her phone - your own phone pinged with a text moments later: an address.

~~~

You showed up promptly at 7, your heart pounding fiercely against your ribcage as you knocked on the door to Miranda’s apartment.

The door swung open to reveal the tall blonde, wearing the blue shirt she’d loaned you after spilling cereal all over you, as well as a pair of shorts. 

“Blue is definitely your color,” you said before you could stop yourself. It really was, though - it brought out the blues of her eyes, making them shine and sparkle against her pale skin. 

“Thank you,” Miranda said with a laidback grin, gesturing for you to enter her apartment. It surprised you to see that it wasn’t as messy as you’d have assumed it to be - it was definitely lived in, but it was clean and had very home-y vibes. More than anything, the first thing you noticed was the smell. It smelled like Miranda - light and clean, but with the faint scent of cigarettes clinging to the air. Her shirt had smelled like that, too, when you’d borrowed it, and though you never would have admitted it back then, you’d buried your nose in the fabric more than once before begrudgingly washing and returning it.

Miranda offered you a beer and guided you to her living room, settling on the couch and motioning for you to join her. The couch was relatively small and though you tried to leave some space between you, your knee ended up pressing lightly against Miranda’s thigh.

Despite your nerves, it somehow felt right to be in her space. You felt as though you were able to see a whole new side to Miranda - a side that you really liked. As the two of you engaged in some timid small-talk, you couldn’t help but wonder why she’d invited you - you hoped it was for the same reason that you’d said yes.

“God, I was so nervous to ask you to come over,” Miranda said with a cackle, shaking her head at herself before taking a swig of her beer.

“Were you?” The thought amused you greatly, and it gave you a shot of confidence. You dropped your voice an octave and leaned forward. “Do I make you nervous?”

Miranda looked like a deer caught in headlights, her eyes widening. Your eyes flicked briefly to her lips, to her wet, pink tongue darting out to lick them, and you found yourself leaning even closer. 

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” you murmured, scanning Miranda’s face for any sign of discomfort. Miranda’s pupils dilated and her lips parted slightly.

“I would kiss you back,” she whispered, her gaze landing on your lips.

“Yeah?” you whispered back with a smile. Miranda nodded slowly.

“Uh-huh.” 

You closed the gap, your lips meeting hers - she tasted like beer and cigarettes, and her lips were impossibly soft. She kissed you back eagerly, whimpering a little as your tongue darted out over her lower lip.

You pulled back, your cheeks covered in a light blush.

“I’m sorry, I hope that wasn’t-” you started, but Miranda interrupted you with a second kiss, this one deeper and hungrier than the first as her hands grabbed your cheeks, holding you in place. Her tongue licked greedily at the seam of your lips, which you immediately parted for her. You let out a deep groan as her tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing with yours in near-desperation.

“You taste so good,” Miranda moaned, her voice low and sultry, and desire pooled in your core.

“Mmmh,” was all you could reply as your hands gripped at Miranda’s waist and you swung your leg over her lap to straddle her. Her hands slid down to your waist, then your hips, then came to rest on top of your thighs. She gave them a squeeze and you found yourself involuntarily grinding your pelvis into her lap, her touch sending your body into overdrive.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, Miranda swallowing your words as your bodies pressed against each other, a steady and suffocating heat building between the two of you.

The constable’s hands slipped under your ass and she turned you onto your back - breaking the kiss only briefly to position herself above you. One of her knees came to rest between your legs and she pushed it against your core, drawing a groan from your throat. The pressure was delicious against your aching sex and you bucked your hips to get some much-needed relief.

Miranda’s lips left your own and began to trail down your chin, your throat, your chest, stopping at the top button of your shirt - hot, wet, needy. She lifted her head and you looked down to meet her gaze - her pupils were blown wide with lust, her cheeks gorgeously flushed, her hair tousled.

“We- fuck,” you started breathily, finding it almost impossible to think as Miranda’s knee pressed against your clit. “We should slow down.”

Miranda nodded, her eyes widening and her cheeks bright red as she reluctantly pulled her leg away from your cunt. You bit down on your lower lip to stop a whine from slipping out at the loss of friction.

The constable settled half on top of you, leaning against the back of the couch and propping her head up on her arm. She closed her eyes as she tried to steady her heavy, ragged breathing. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with want. “I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Miranda’s eyes snapped open and she met your gaze, a slow, easy grin spreading across her face. “You’re not. I want this.”

“I don’t think I just want this,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and swallowing hard. “I want you.” 

“I want you, too.”

You opened your eyes and met Miranda’s bright, eager gaze, searching her face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. “Are you sure?”

Miranda nodded and you lunged forward, your lips crashing into hers as your hand snaked its way around the back of her head, holding her in place. Your fingers threaded through her hair - it felt like silk under your skin.

Your other hand settled on her waist, tugging her on top of you - her body weight pressed you down into the couch and you groaned at the feeling. You needed more, you wanted more, so your hands found the hem of Miranda’s t-shirt and you slipped underneath it. Her bare skin was impossibly smooth, and you felt electricity coursing through your body at the feeling of her soft hips in your hands. Your hands found their way up her back and you raked your nails over the expanse of it, pleased with the hungry growl that escaped Miranda’s lips.

Finding the clasp of her bra, you unclipped it, slipping a hand around to the front of her torso and under the loose fabric to palm her breast. She grasped desperately at your waist as your warm palm rubbed over her nipple, rolling it into a hard peak. Miranda let out a breathy sigh and sat up, straddling your waist and pulling her shirt off. Her bra followed, and both were discarded on the floor behind the couch. 

You felt the air leave your lungs as you stared up at Miranda - your mouth going dry. Her rosy nipples contrasted against her pale skin, her abdomen rippled with every heaving breath that she took. You couldn’t help but reach out and touch her, caressing her hips, her stomach, her breasts - flicking your thumbs over her pert nipples and watching them harden further.

Sitting up, you hungrily took one of the rosy buds into your mouth, sucking greedily and soothing your tongue over it as you felt Miranda’s hands thread through your hair. You repeated the process on her other nipple, thoroughly pleased with yourself when Miranda let out a soft, breathy moan - one that was so deliciously pornographic that you felt a wave of arousal course through you, your panties growing damp.

You released Miranda’s nipple, your hands drifting down to the buckle of her belt and making quick work of undoing it. Miranda took the hint, removing her pants in a hurry and then focusing her attention on your own clothes. Your own shirt was unbuttoned and tossed aside in an instant, your pants tugged down your legs and dropped onto the floor with the rest of the clothing.

Miranda’s bare skin was hot against your own and you pulled her back down on top of you, your pussy throbbing as her nipples brushed against yours. You kissed her with hunger and passion, your left hand palming her ass as your right hand found its way between your bodies to cup her pussy over her underwear.

The constable groaned, immediately grinding against your hand - you noticed that she’d soaked through the thin cotton of her underwear. You pulled the fabric aside and curled your fingers against the length of her slit, letting out a gasp as you felt her dripping for you.

“I need you,” she whined, shuddering as your fingers explored her folds - letting out a strangled whimper when you smeared her wetness over her clit and began to draw lazy circles over the bundle of nerves.

Miranda turned out to be as loud as she was sensitive - you found it easy to bring her to the edge, time and time again, your fingers applying a gentle pressure to her clit and pumping easily in and out of her, her slick walls drawing your digits in and clenching tightly around them. Her unabashed moans filled the air, echoing off the walls of the living room and having you wondering - only briefly, though - how thick those walls were.

After her fifth orgasm, when the stimulation finally became too much for her, Miranda whimpered and shifted her pelvis away from you. Taking the hint, you pulled your hand out of her underwear, your fingers shining with her arousal. You lifted them to Miranda’s face, smirking when she immediately opened her mouth and allowed you to place your fingers on her tongue. She sucked them clean, her flushed cheeks hollowing out, her kiss-swollen lips wrapped around your knuckles. 

You leaned forward to kiss her as she released your fingers, eager to taste the remnants of her orgasm on her tongue. The taste was heavenly - you were almost sorry that Miranda was so overstimulated - you’d have given everything to go down on her.

She pulled back from the kiss, her hot, heavy breath ghosting over your face as she rested her forehead against your own, trying to steady her breathing. A bead of sweat had collected on her forehead and you reached up to wipe it away, tucking a strand of mussed hair behind her ear. It was too short, of course, and immediately fell back into her face - it made you smile, and Miranda smiled - no, beamed - back, her eyes sparkling.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” you whispered into the silence - Miranda blushed and shook her head no. Her fingers danced along the waistband of your underwear, lightly at first as she leaned in for a languid kiss. Then her fingers curled under the waistband and began tugging, her lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, your sternum, your stomach - soft, warm, wet, hungry. She tugged your underwear down your legs, her lips immediately replacing the fabric as she pressed kisses to your mound, to your inner thighs - finally disappearing between your legs. 

You felt her tongue lap hungrily at your folds, little noises of pleasure coming from between your thighs and vibrating against your cunt. It was both adorable and extremely hot at the same time, how eagerly Miranda ate you out - sloppy, yet determined (and very skilled, you noted mentally, letting out a filthy groan as her lips latched onto your clit, her tongue flicking at the sensitive little bundle).

By the time Miranda was finished with you, your thighs were trembling and your breathing was ragged. The constable pressed one final kiss to your clit, before sitting up and grinning goofily down at you. Her chin was coated in your slick and her cheeks were flushed, and you couldn’t help but loop an arm around her neck and pull her close, licking your own arousal off her face before meeting her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

After what felt like hours holding each other, kissing and regaining your breaths, you felt your eyes begin to grow heavy and you sighed.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, your voice slightly hoarse.

“Yeah - of course.” Miranda blushed as she pushed herself off you. “Can you just wait here?”

You nodded, furrowing your brows as the constable stood and walked out of the room. You heard the tap running, then she came back with a wet washcloth.

“Is it okay if I…” Her eyes darted down between your legs as she took a seat next to you.

It was your turn to blush. “Yeah, that’s okay. Thanks.”

Miranda cleaned you up with great care, being extra gentle as she soothed the washcloth over your clit. When she was done, you got dressed in silence, then allowed Miranda to walk you to the door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob.

“Would you want to…” she trailed off, not quite able to meet your gaze.

“Are you busy Saturday? Would you like to go on a date with me?” You couldn’t help but smile as Miranda’s eyes widened and she began to nod, a look of relief washing over her face as her lips curled upwards.

“Yeah - I’m not busy, I would love to.”

“Good.” You smirked, leaning in to press your lips to Miranda’s - her breath hitched in her chest. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

You turned to leave, exiting the apartment and walking down the hall. Turning around to wave goodbye, you could see Miranda smiling as her head poked out from behind the door. 

That night, you fell asleep with a soft smile on your face and a warmth in your belly - already mentally planning your date.

x

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[rajaions]

Was Ashnard an illegitimate son of the king?

(This post contain spoilers for FE9/10)

Ashnard; the "only" surviving member of Daein's royal family, as we progress through the game's story, we come to find out how his family was wiped out (almost) entirely, his involvement in this tragedy and his reasons for having committed such acts.

There is some information scattered across both games regarding Ashnard's position in the royal court prior to the downfall of his family that I feel are of importance understand his character better.

Our main sources of information will be the following:

- The base conversation with Tanith in chapter 18 (PoR)

- Ashnard and Bryce's conversation in the final chapter of PoR

-The final chapter of part 3 (RD)

The base conversation with Tanith explains what happened to the royal family 18 years prior to the mad king's war:

[Ike: "Nobles, you say? So the royal family fell victim to this plague as well?"

Tanith: "Yes. The reigning king and queen and some twenty or so princes and princesses fell ill. And everyone who fell ill perished." ]

Here, we learn that the king, his queen and ~20 princes and princesses died because of a "plague" (which was actually the curse of a blood pact)

There's other important information in the base conversation with Tanith, but I feel like it's important to mention that the way this information was treated in English localization and original Japanese script differs slightly.

English localization:

[Tanith: "You see, his name was never mentioned in any talk of succession before that time. He was of such a distant bloodline that he was unlikely to be king." ]

Japanese script:

[タニス: "そうだ。 だがそれまでは…

王位継承には名の挙がることがなかったほど、

王位には遠い存在だったようだ。"

tl: Tanith: "Indeed. But until then...his name had not ever come up in talk of succession; that was how far he was from the throne, it seems." ]

(Link to the fan translation can be found here, I recommend reading it to understand my post better)

"Of such a distant bloodline" VS "that was how far he was from the throne"

Ashnard is consistently referred as the king's son across both games, which means that he can not be of "a distant bloodline". (probably an error on the translators part)

In the final chapter of PoR, when Ashnard reveals the truth behind the downfall his family, he admits to killing his father, brothers and his stepmother.

[Ashnard: "The thing that killed my father was not plague, nor was it another illness.  It was me."

Ashnard: "Oh, but it doesn't end there. There was my stepmother, too. And every brother who stood to be a legitimate heir...All of them died by my hand."]

Before I get to my point, let me list what do we know for facts:

- Ashnard is the king's son

- The queen of Daein died because of the blood pact (and thus, was killed by Ashnard)

- Ashnard killed his stepmother

- He killed around 20 princes and princesses (Note: the title of prince/princess is not exclusive to the king's children; it can also be used for his siblings/grandchildren)

- He killed "every brother who stood to be a legitimate heir"

- His name never came up in talks of succession

So, how does the king's son can end up so low in the succession line?

While not explicitly stated, it seems pretty obvious (to me) that the queen and Ashnard's stepmother are one and the same.

If Ashnard was born from an extramarital affair, it would explain why he was never seen as a potential heir to the throne, the queen's children and potential grandchildren would be prioritized over him.

And with over 20 princes and princesses in the family, it's not far-fetched to imagine that some of them were born out of wedlock.

With all of that in mind, let's take a look at these quotes:

[Almedha: "Ashnard, he… always worried about the future of a world without equals. He was born an outstanding man, wise beyond his age, yet could never become king."

Ashnard: "I question the way in which our society is designed. No matter what strength a person has, it is the station he is born into that controls his destiny. And you cannot control where you will be born. Do you believe that a person of low birth should simply endure the curse of his station?" ]

We can grasp why he became so enamored with the idea that "the strong should possess everything", because as an illegitimate son of the king, his chances of becoming king through legitimate/nonviolent means were probably close to zero. Physical strength was his only way obtain some sort of legitimacy. (for example, his name was well known in the army prior to his ascension to the throne)

TL;DR Although his father is indeed the king of Daein, many elements imply that Ashnard's mother is not the queen, making him an illegitimate son of the king.

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 16.1 - lips like sugar

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (angst, language)

Word Count: 1900

☾

She floats like a swan Grace on the water Lips like sugar Lips like sugar

☾

May 15, 1984 - junior year

"You are a fucking asshole."

The animosity in your eyes made Eddie flinch. He took a few more steps towards you, holding up his hands… in some kind of… surrender? He didn't know. You were radiating violence and nothing else. Your eyes were red like you had been crying. 

"Babe, let me expla-"

"Take one more step towards me and I'll castrate you."

As usual, his timing was terrible. Eddie let out a nervous laugh which only infuriated you more.

You pushed yourself off the van and began walking over to him, like a tiger hunting its prey. 

"Say nothing. Let me talk. Nod if you understand."

Eddie nodded immediately, his burnt hands still held up before him. He swallowed anxiously, bracing himself for whatever wounds your words would inflict.

"Callahan told me you're being held back. That you can't graduate. Fuck you."

You took a step closer.

"Don't you care about your future? Not even just with school - you could have been seriously hurt today. Fuck you."

Another step. You began to reach into your pocket, which made Eddie take a step back.

You held something in your hand, flicking it at him in anger. Whatever it was hit him in the face, making him jump like a coward. Looking down, his stomach dropped.

You spoke again, your voice cracking. "I got my driver's license a couple weeks ago. It was part of your graduation present. For teaching me how to drive."

Bending down and grabbing your license off the concrete, you looked him in the eyes, pointing the card at him.

"Fuck you," you whispered, tossing the keys to his van on the ground and storming off.

Eddie watched, speechless, as you got into Jonathan Byers' car. And then you were gone.

☾

Just when you think you've caught her She glides across the water She calls for you tonight To share this moonlight

☾

"You okay?" Jonathan asked hesitantly, like he was afraid that you might turn on him next.

But your throat was constricting, holding back tears. You just stared out the window and held your breath. You refused to cry, even if it was out of anger. And especially in front of someone who you had only become good friends with over the last couple months.

The Byers' boy drove towards your home. He was the one to take you to get your driver's license in the first place. 

It was kind of an unspoken trade - Jonathan would take you to get your license and in turn, you would say nice things about him to Nancy. You didn't mean to end up friends, it just happened somewhere along the way. 

When you pulled up to the Buckley home, you let out a huff, finally calming down a bit.

"Thank you, Jonathan. I'll be fine," you looked over your shoulder at him as you opened the car door. "You're coming to the party this weekend, right?"

Jonathan looked a little bewildered. "You're still going to throw him a graduation party?"

You shrugged, sniffling. "It's a surprise party. Can you imagine the look on his face when he gets here? Congratulations, asshole, you committed arson and somehow dodged a felony. Has a nice ring to it, right?" 

"I guess...?" 

Throwing your backpack over your shoulder, you jogged up to the house, where Robin would surely be waiting to hear all about the fiasco at school. 

But instead, it was your father that was standing in the kitchen when you came in.

"I told you that Munson boy was no good."

Your temper flared for a second before you composed yourself. "What do you want me to say, dad? 'You were right'?" You dropped your bag loudly on the floor.

Richard Buckley sipped on his coffee, tilting his head and scowling in a way that said well, yes. 

You snapped. "I was kind of hoping for some support. You can't help who you love, right?" 

You held your tone in a way that emphasized not only his extramarital affair and subsequent relationship with Kate, but also the situations going on with his daughters. 

But, of course, your father was still oblivious to Robin's secrets, as that was something Robin herself had to confront when she felt the time was right.

"I'm just glad you weren't involved - that you weren't hurt," your father said simply, turning back to the newspaper in his hands. You didn’t know what to say to that.

Robin was sitting on your bed when you entered your room. 

"There you are!" Robin said, exasperated. "What took so long? I was worried you got arrested, too."

"I took Eddie's van to the police station, tore him a new asshole, and then Jonathan took me home."

You sat down on the chair near your pristine white vanity, removing your shoes. You arranged them in perfect order on the floor next to your dresser.

You internally admitted to yourself that your compulsive habits were creeping up on you again, like a stress-induced specter. All you could do was oblige to calm your nerves.

"Are you okay?" Robin's blue gaze was worried, she fiddled with her hands instead of uttering all of the words that were in her busy mind.

You looked at your sister morosely. "No, I had… I had no idea he was going to do that."

You explained everything that happened that day. Well, everything besides certain spicy extracurricular activities that took place during lunch near the drama room.

The gravity of the situation fell down upon you once again. Your face heated in frustration. Without knowing what else to do, you stood up and then flopped face down on the bed, breathing heavily into the blankets.

Robin rubbed your back tenderly, sighing. "So we're stuck with Eddie for another year at school?"

"Yes," you cried into the comforter.

"At least you guys get to graduate together, now."

Oh, Robbie. Always looking on the bright side. But you weren't sure if you could find a silver lining in the whole thing just yet.

☾

You'll flow down her river She'll ask and you'll give her

Lips like sugar Sugar kisses Lips like sugar Sugar kisses

☾

Eddie threw the tennis ball aggressively against his bedroom wall for the thousandth time, catching it as it came back to him.

It only took a couple of phone calls to your house before your father finally told him to fuck off, though not exactly with those words. 

Just leave her alone, will you? Go light something else on fire.

He whipped the ball again. The stinging pain in his injured hands as he caught it each time was mildly therapeutic.

Eddie Munson knew he fucked up. He knew he was in the wrong. There was no trying to justify his actions besides simply wanting anarchy, some more action in his already rebellious life.

How was he supposed to know that the last firework would backfire? Principal Higgins' car had been conveniently covered in toilet paper as some other students’ cliche idea of a senior prank. The stupid car went up like a box of goddamn matches.

For a split second before Hopper hauled him off, Eddie admired the fire, ignoring the burns on his hands. A day that meant to be nothing but a fireworks show turned into an actual shit show.

He turned his thoughts towards you. All he could do now was give you time and try to think of a way to apologize to you.

A knock on the door sounded in his room, quiet besides the impact of the tennis ball against his Metallica poster.

"Eddie? Can I come in?"

Uncle Wayne appeared in the doorway looking solemn. 

Eddie snorted. "I see you heard about what happened."

Running a hand down his weathered face, his uncle shrugged. "Uh, yeah. Chief Hopper called me."

"Great." 

Eddie pitched the ball again, not looking his uncle in the eye.

"Kiddo, I know this was just an accident that spiraled out of control. Kinda like a perfect storm. I'm here for you, always gonna be," Wayne grumbled, lighting a cigarette.

His uncle's sentimental words were unexpected. Eddie caught the ball and stopped, sitting down on his bed heavily. But Eddie couldn't find the words to respond. 

"I gotta head to work, but I bought a six-pack and some smokes… you can help yourself to it. I'm sure your nerves are fried after today." As he turned to leave the room, his uncle tapped on the door frame. "Just don't be too hard on yourself, kiddo."

He closed the door behind him. When Eddie heard his uncle's truck pull away, the Munson boy sighed and fell back limply on the bed.

Glancing over to his nightstand, his chest hurt. A Polaroid photo of you was on the wall above it. You looked bashful, smiling and reaching for the camera, wearing only a t-shirt that went down to your thighs. 

He remembered that night, about a month ago, every single detail burned into his memory. It was a Friday night. You and Eddie shared a small bottle of Jameson Whiskey and took dirty photos of each other with your new camera.

It was a sweet memory, of a sweet girl. A sweet girl who deserved a lot better than a boy who was as unstable as a stick of expired dynamite.

☾

Just when you think she's yours She's flown to other shores To laugh at how you break And melt into this lake

☾

It was sometime around midnight when Eddie heard a tapping at his front door. He hadn't been able to sleep for shit, stress clouding his mind. He couldn't even find motivation to play his guitar.

And now, someone showing up unannounced at his front door was the last thing he needed.

Grabbing a pathetic pocket knife from the junk drawer in the kitchen, Eddie inched towards the living room. He didn't want to take any chances - after his dad was sent to prison, Eddie and his uncle weren't sure what kind of trouble his dad had been wrapped up in. Or if Mr. Munson had owed anyone money prior to his arrest.

Anyone Eddie knew would have called before just dropping by in the middle of the night, even you.

So being his usual paranoid self, Eddie crept up to the front door. He could hear whispering on the other side, and then a harsh, louder knock on the metal door made him jump.

"Fuck," he mumbled, trying to peek out of the closest window to see if there was a car in the driveway. There wasn't.

But then a familiar voice sounded from the other side of the thin trailer walls.

"Eddie! Open the door, I can see your damn shadow-ow, clumsy bitch, you're stepping on my foot!"

It was you. And you weren't alone.

The Munson boy was confused when not just one, but two Buckley daughters stumbled into his home. You were both wearing dark clothes, your hair tucked under black hats, almost twins in the dim light. 

Robin smiled sheepishly at him before looking around his trailer in curiosity. "Snazzy place you got here, Eddie."

He stood there staring at the duo. "Do I even want to know what's going on? You guys look like cartoon burglars."

You shot him a mischievous grin, tossing him a matching black hat. You put your hands on your hips proudly.

"Get changed. We're going to get revenge on Higgins."

☾

She'll be my mirror Reflect what I am Loser and winner The king of Siam

And my Siamese twin Alone in the river Mirror kisses Mirror kisses

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Lips Like Sugar" by Echo & The Bunnymen)

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[faces-ofvenus]

hi :) i saw this post https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/faces-ofvenus/698378142804557824 and was wondering how do you think they would react to their children with reader (if she was aegon's wife and aemond's "lover" or aemond's wife and aegon's "lover" but in reality she is with both of them (basically the last option of your publication where she ends up dating both) and how do you think they would react if someone pointed out the fact of his dubious paternity *ahem bastard ahem *?

thanks for your time, your blog is the best thing I've ever read <3 I'm obsessed with your beautiful posts 😫

You could try to hide it and indeed you did, but none of the princes really wanted that, it was strange, when Aemond your husband was away for some political reason, on the nights you would show up with various marks all over your body, scratches, bites and even hickeys, all caused by Aegon, you were in an open love triangle, absolutely no one knew about it, Alicent had her suspicions of course, already confronting her children and yourself, but nothing was going forward, whispers roamed the halls, the princess is having extramarital affairs, look at her neck, have you looked at her arm? The prince doesn't seem to care!

Everything got worse with her pregnancy, honestly one would think that her child would be born, a boy or girl with some different shade of hair, not the most beautiful white like her husband's (and in the case of her beloved king) but no, beautiful violet eyes, strands as soft and white as snow, that's how one could describe her children, but whose children were they? They could not be Aemond's, he was not there at the time, but was he?

With the second son almost the same thing, the same whispers, the same voices, they got louder, but they had no way to prove it, they couldn't really, the sons were the same as Aegon, not pera Aemond... It was hard to tell, and it seemed that none of the princes cared, Aemond loved his sons like everything else in his life, and Aegon also seemed to feel deep affection for them, almost like a father. You loved them because of this.

You didn't know the context of the conversation, you were more distracted, tending to your offspring and honestly didn't want to know, something about your eldest son inheriting land, but you could exactly hear the word coming out of his mouth.

— These children should have no right to anything, my son a true Hightower who should inherit everything, for these children with Velaryon blood running in them, cannot be Aemond's, not when this harlot lays with others when my poor nephew is away.

His tone was angry, contemptuous to say the least, the lord was furious about the whole thing, he knew in his mind at least that they were bastards, silence may have been the trademark on his face, but it didn't last long, the fright was enormous when Aegon hit his desk hard, his purple eyes seemed to glow like fire at the same time that Aemond had the same look, it was rare for the two princes to agree on something, but at that moment they knew, heads would roll, Aemond came very close to the lord, grabbed him by the shirt, and looked at him with perhaps the coldest eyes you would ever have the displeasure to witness.

— How dare you accuse my children of being bastards, my children, my blood, my wife, you know I won't care if you are my uncle, when my sword is around your neck, and then I hand you over like dragon food.

His voice could be heard all over the room, he wasn't trying to hide it, no, he wouldn't hide any of it, you glanced at King Aegon, he just had a malicious, maybe bloodthirsty look, he wouldn't forget, sometimes he scared you more than Aemond himself, the council followed almost normally except for the fact that his uncle was no longer there, the king dismissed him, and even spoke in a sickly sweet voice, that he would think about the case, take the land from his nephew, to give to his cousin, may the gods have and protect him from everything, because he will need it.

The next day you slept in your shared quarters normally, except for the fact that you saw neither Aegon nor Aemond all night, which was strange, the two were always with her, if not only one, she was afraid, maybe a little, afraid of the previous day, but this was all ceased with the news, poor thieves murdered in cold blood the lord Hightower, some people passing by the dark street saw two men entering the castle of your husband's uncle, and all you knew is of his painful death, how he had been tortured, thieves, bloodthirsty, monsters was what they said, after that the thieves took him outside and his body was almost completely charred, who were the people, it was hard to know, it could be "anyone", but y/n knew well, knew that they could not be just anyone. ..

Going to the family cafe you saw everyone at the table, Aegon and Aemond seemed to have a pleasant conversation which was rare, when they saw you passing by their children, they opened perhaps the most beautiful of smiles, smiles that took beats from your heart, it was as if the painful news in the morning had not even shaken them, not even Otto showed anything, but it was hard to read the same, and maybe he knew, not for sure he knew, but no one saw the men, at least not their faces, you sat between the two, Aemond gave you a chaste kiss on your cheek,while you felt Aegon's hands running up and down your thigh.

I really hope it turned out the way you wanted it to, thank you for liking what I write.

[jpgmaya]

・ʚ ‧₊˚ 𝐈𝐭'𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐎𝐮𝐭

 “𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘆𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀. 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗲, 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿.”

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀): Rafe Cameron x Housewife!Reader

𝗪/𝗖: 1.9k

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Rumors of your husband's extramarital affairs sent you seeking the comfort of Rafe Cameron. Things don't end the way they should.

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ MINORS DNI — infidelity, DARK!Rafe, toxic relationships, size difference, older woman/younger man (rafe is 19, reader is in her 30s), jealousy, possessiveness, marital issues, drinking, mentioned drug abuse and divorce, DUB-CON SMUT (p in v, ROUGH FILTY sex, stealthing, degradation, fish hooking, dacryphilia, squirting, creampie) YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

𝗔/𝗡: a self indulgent mess as my first published fic here, yay! not beta'd, all mistakes are my own. loosely inspired by 'lemonade' by nicole dollanganger which you can listen to below. if you enjoy, remember to like & reblog, it means the world to me :)

"Did you hear me, honey?"

Your eyes shift from the half-empty glass of mimosa at the sound of your husband, Jonathan's voice, blinking slowly up at him when he emerges through your kitchen threshold.

You can barely stand the sight of him these days, let alone his voice. But you force a smile and shake your head, reaching for the glass and taking a sip.

"I said I'll be late at the office tonight, don't wait up." His tie is lopsided and hastily knotted, something you focus on instead of his brown eyes. You hum in response, almost out of habit at this point. It's the fourth time this week he's told you not to wait up, the fourth time he's lied.

At first, you didn't want to believe the rumors, passing them off with a chuckle in the supermarket and an Oh, really? at the country club. No one would say it to your face, but you knew how they all thought of you, the things they would say behind your back.

Poor thing. She must be so desperate. Trouble in trophy-wife paradise.

What burned you up the most was that they were right.

It started with late nights at the office, coming home past two in the morning, and jumping into the shower immediately. Then you found the lipstick stains on his shirt while doing laundry, and every little thing over the last couple of months had started to make sense. Phone calls that he would step into the next room to take, his lack of attention, his snappiness, smelling distinctly like patchouli, and bergamot and all the notes you hate—

"That kid's coming by today who offered to clean the pool. The Cameron kid, don't forget to let him in."

Jonathan's hands circle your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. Aftershave hits you like a truck, burning your nostrils when he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek.

"I won't," You managed to squeak out, turning around to face him as he reaches for his tumbler and a piece of toast from the toaster.

If he weren't so busy cheating, he'd realize how ridiculous that statement was. Rafe Cameron coming by to clean a pool.

What the hell would a Cameron know about cleaning a pool?

People say you can't choose who you love, and in a lot of ways, you guess that's true.

You certainly wouldn't choose to continue loving your adulterous husband. However, here you are, still aching deep down for something you can't receive.

Rafe was an accident, a result of day drinking and bitterness that manifested itself into inappropriate flirtatious advances. He was young and brash, the complete opposite of Jonathan.

"A mojito; I wouldn't have taken you for the type." Rafe leans his forearm against the bar, blonde hair curling past his eyes.

You furrow your brows, "type? I—"

"The type to sit around at the bar, alone, drinking a mojito."

"And what would you know about mojitos, Rafe? I thought you still had a few years left?" You'd responded, and he shook his head, pink tongue darting out to run across his bottom lip.

"Two, but we both know I don't exactly follow the rules around here."

You were angry, a scorned housewife with too much time on her hands, and you wanted to get back at him. Rafe was cute, and accessible, willing. He'd wanted you just as much as you wanted him, and perhaps now he wants you even more.

Bathroom hookups at the country club turned into late night beach rendezvous until, apparently, he was coming over to the house you shared with your husband.

You never wanted your relationship with Rafe to progress this far, get this risky, but it seemed like every time you'd try to break things off, he was at your doorstep the next day with dilated pupils and tears. If it wasn't problems at home, then it was his own demons, the drug addiction that you hadn't even attempted to address.

Only Rafe can heal Rafe, and it was important that he realize that, no matter how co-dependent the relationship has gotten.

Today is the day you'll break things off with Rafe for the sake of both of your lives.

Uneasiness swirls in your gut, picking at the skin around your nails as you watch Rafe move about your kitchen. He opens cabinets, drawers, and even the fridge as if he owns the place.

He's too comfortable here. You've let him into your life, and now you have to deal with him.

"Rafe," You interrupt him, maneuvering around the kitchen island until you're standing at his side. "What are you looking for?"

You reach out, brushing your manicured fingers against his shoulder, which he recoils from. A frown paints your face, and he must realize, because he's mumbling out an apology over the next few seconds.

"I- I thought I left something the last time I came, you know? Maybe I dropped it or something." Rafe sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"No, Rafe, you didn't leave anything here." You try to tell him, but it's clear that he's not really listening to you. His eyes bounce all over the room, taking in all the details and then taking in you.

You're still dressed in your silk robe, bare underneath except for a pair of floral lace panties. You nervously cleaned earlier instead of changing out of your pajamas, a decision that you're seriously beginning to regret.

"Listen, we need to talk. I've been meaning to sit down with you for a while now," You pull the lapels of your robe closer together, hiding your skin from his heated gaze. Rafe looks down at you, a tick in his jaw that won't go away. "I think we should end this. Today. I wanna work things out with Jonathan."

Rafe tuts, the muscles in his shoulder contracting as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"You wanna work things out with Jonathan?" He parrots. Disdain drips from his voice, taking a few steps closer until he's right up against you. "What about us, huh? You forgot about that?"

His fingers tap against your forehead like he's trying to remind you of something, but you slap his arm away. "Us? Are you high, Rafe?"

You cross your arms over your chest, holding your ground against the 6'2 tower of muscle despite being significantly smaller than him.

"There was never an us, okay? I was lonely, and you were— there. I know that sucks to hear but, I'm married, and I love my husband."

Perhaps you were being harsh, but it's for the better. That's what you keep telling yourself.

"Don't do that, don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself!" Rafe raises his voice at you, hands coming up to hold your arms tightly in his grasp. Like he doesn't want to let go.

"Rafe—" He can't be reasoned with, you think. He's emotional and erratic like all nineteen year olds are. And you've fucked up so bad by doing this with him . . . to him.

His kisses are fiery when they rain down on you, working his mouth in tandem against your own and biting down on your lips until you gasp, giving him a channel to slide his tongue into. Rafe holds you close when you feel your knees go weak, swallowing every moan and grunt with ease.

Almost in an instant, you're pressed up against the counter, hips jutting against the marble as the silk fabric of your robe is bunched up around your waist. A hand comes down on your asscheek, making you hiss at the contact. His pinky ring leaving behind a prolonged sting.

"You wouldn't leave me, not when I fuck you so much better than that limp dick asshole." Rafe's finger latches onto the gusset of your underwear, pulling the sodden fabric aside and exposing your cunt to the cool air of the room. Your knees squeeze together, feeling a gush of slick pour out of you just from the raunchiness of his words.

"That's why you're getting a divorce, right?" He stands tall behind you; the sound of his jeans unbuckling makes a ringing sound in your ears. Your face is pressed sideways against the counter, blood rushing to your head.

You can't think.

"Rafe—" Your voice sounds foreign even to yourself, reaching behind to press your hand against his pelvis. He smirks when he looks down at you, pumping his erection in one hand while the other is squeezes your ass. "C-condom, please."

Rafe must be expecting it, dropping his cock with a sigh before grabbing your wrist and throwing it off of him. You hear the rumple of a foil package a few moments later and silently thank god.

The medley of both your moans on the initial push inside is a work of art, a raw display of pure affection that you could never get out of your husband. Rafe's nails dig into the meat of your hips, pulling you back while he thrusts forward. There's no shortage of sloppy, wet sounds coming from your pussy, dripping slick around his cock as it breaches you.

"C'mon, no zoning out on me." His voice permeates your headspace for only a few seconds, drifting in and out of reality as the throes of your passion overtake you. Your legs shake, pussy creaming around his length as he relentlessly pounds into you.

Before you know it, your face is lifted off the cool surface of the counter. Rafe's digits hook inside your mouth on either side, opening you wide as you sob from the amount of pure electric coursing through your veins. Tears stream down your face, soaking your cheeks and neck as the wretched sounds from your throat are projected for the whole house to hear.

Luckily, it's just the two of you.

"You're getting a divorce, right? Say it." His bulbous head jams against your sweet spot with every thrust, balls slapping your clit as added stimulation. It's too much and still somehow not enough.

"Say it!" Rafe repeats, almost like he's begging you to. You can't hold it in anymore.

"Yes! God, Rafe, yes." You scream out as you jerk forward, finally moving off his cock as you squirt. Rafe is there to hold you up, placing you flat against the counter while he blankets your backside.

You feel him start searching for your hole again, breathing deeply into your neck as the tip of his cock pokes around before eventually finding its goal.

"Can't take it anymore, baby." You groan, but you're suddenly feeling too tired to try and fight him off. The weight on your back is almost enough to put you to sleep, feeling your eyes get heavy with each passing second.

"Shhh. . . yea you can. You'll take it for me; take all of me." Rafe mumbles breathlessly, pushing some hair back from your face. He kisses your forehead, the apples of your cheeks, your chin.

His hips falter after a few more thrusts, moaning in your ear when he finally cums.

A mixture of seed and your own arousal drip out of your used cunt, falling to the floor beneath you.

Rafe grins, still cradling your tired form.

"It'll all work out, I promise. We'll be together."

©jpgmaya

taglist — none yet!

[secondhand-snow]

a question, (a promise)

jeryd mencken x f!reader (succession)

wc: 6.1k+

warnings: shitty politician (fictional), swearing, slight dub-con, slight abuse of power, drinking, smut, affairs, workplace relationships, cheating, grinding, thigh riding, fingering (f! receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), clothed sex (m!clothed, f! nude), biting, slight degradation, angst, light dom/sub, no use of y/n

summary: It's been several months since your first meeting with Jeryd Mencken, and many weeks since his involvement with ATN began your work together. What followed was hours of cocky smiles, over confident laughs, and unaddressed tension. Tension that finally snaps due to an party invitation, a vodka martini, and a conveniently empty hotel bar.

authors note: This is a longer one, but I wanted to start out strong for my first fic published on this account! Mencken was such a dick in the show, but I know he'd treat you so right in the bedroom. please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed!

You didn’t mean for it to start this way.

Well, you didn’t mean for it to start at all, but if you had to choose a way to a begin an extramarital affair with an infamous American politician and presidential candidate, fucking him against the wall in a hotel room at 1 AM would not be your first choice.

And yet, when those blue-green eyes stared into yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, or how his smile-lines wrinkle as he smirks, but you don’t push him away. You don’t tell him to fuck off and run back to your apartment. Instead, gazing up at his face, your questions receding to the back of your mind, you pulled him back in.

You should have found yourself hating him, like Shiv, or maybe enthralled in him, like Roman, but you really felt somewhere in the middle. Your first meeting was in Virginia, at that Future Freedom Summit where Logan was flooded with more attention than the queen for three days straight. You were in the room when he brought Waystar’s CEO a coke, setting it onto his table like a trophy. Maybe it was the casual confidence in his voice, or the way his crisp white button up was rolled to expose his forearms, but you couldn’t help your eyes raking across his back as he left the room.

“That was nice,” Logan had said.

         Out of all the words you could use to describe Jeryd Mencken, “Nice” was not one of them. “Bastard,” “Fascist,” “Cocky,” and “Manipulator” all came to mind. But so did “Confident,” “Intelligent,” and “Charismatic.” Don’t get yourself wrong, you didn’t agree with his politics at all. But at the end of the day, you were devoted to Waystar Royco and ATN. And whatever worked for them, worked for you.

         You didn’t get to be in the photo that took place the next day, not important or close enough in relation. You lingered to the side, next to your few-times removed cousin, Greg, and out of view of the harsh camera lens. Mencken and you didn’t end up having too much interaction that weekend. A nod of recognition here, a handshake there. But by the time you left the conference, his boisterous laugh was echoing through the halls of your mind, and you just couldn’t stop thinking about his impenetrable gaze.

You remember Roman saying once that Mencken had told him that he “didn’t have a lot of boundaries.” That much became clear to you as you began to work with him. From your very first meeting at ATN, the man didn’t seem to have any issue with discussing personal topics or joking with his employees. You were used to humor in the workplace, I mean, you worked with Kendall and Roman Roy for fuck’s sake, but there was a stark difference in the humor between the Roy siblings and Jeryd Mencken. While their jokes bordered on sexual harassment, Mencken’s were backed by a teasing smirk and a good-natured laugh. You knew it was wrong, or at least weird, to be so enamored by this man. He was a borderline fascist, bible-thumping yuppie, but for some reason you allowed yourself to overlook the obvious flaws in the politician. And soon, you found yourself beginning to fall for his good looks and somewhat sleazy charms

         “You’re on in ten, let me know if you need anything.” You popped your head into the conference room where Mencken was waiting. It was his first in-person appearance on ATN, an interview with one of the hosts to help his relatively extreme political agendas seem a bit more palatable to the average  viewer. He was surrounded by his team of marketers, campaign managers, and other low to mid-ranking poli-sci majors, a thick stack of papers in front of him and a chorus of open laptops circling the table.

         “A kiss for good luck, maybe?” He lifted his head from his reading to give you a half-quirked grin. Nobody else paid you any mind, too engrossed in their work to give a shit about some random woman that probably out-ranks them making sure they’re on task. “I am half Irish, you know.”

         “You’re a white American man, of course you’re part Irish. But seriously. Get down to makeup soon, they want to do some touchups before you go on.”

         “I don’t need makeup,” he stressed the word need, like it’s so obvious his beautiful face shouldn’t be covered by any cosmetics.

         “Nobody needs makeup. It does help though” You lightly rolled your eyes as you stressed the same word as him and laughed at the reaction he displayed before exiting the room, heading to the stage as you pulled out your phone. An incoming text caught your eye, and you clicked off the email you had been reading to view it.

         Having a small celebration after the show tonight. Interested in coming? – Jeryd.

         It was something small that reminded you of his age, the signing of his name behind the text he sent. As if you didn’t have a contact for the man you’ve been working with for several weeks now. But still, a smile brushed your lips and you responded.

         Sure. What time?

         10, I’ll send the address.

         10? Isn’t that a bit late for your age? I thought you’d be tucked into bed by 8:30.

         Haha.

  See you soon, Mr. Mencken.

So, at 9:50 pm you found your driver pulling up to the curb outside The Four Seasons hotel in Manhattan. It figures that Mencken would book the most expensive hotel in New York for his stay. You were familiar with the building, having gone to enough work parties in the bar to make your way there without getting lost in the vast expanse of the well-decorated hallways and foyers. Brushing your hair out of your face, you checked your phone again. Refreshing your emails and messages, you had about a dozen new items to read, even though you were off the clock. One thing you learned early on about working in Waystar, the work never really stops.

          “Hey, look who showed up,” your attention snapped from the device in your hands to the source of the noise. Your eyes met Jeryd Mencken, whiskey in hand, moving from his spot atop a bar stool towards your direction. His smile was bright, and he was still dressed in his suit from earlier in the day, though now he was missing a tie and a few buttons at the top of his shirt. You noticed his blazer buttons were undone as he opened his arms wide to you.

“Here I am. I know, I know, you missed me.” You replied to his open arms with your own, giving in to the hug he initiated. Your arms circled around his neck and shoulders, his fall to your waist as you held each other for a moment. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, but you feel him rest his mouth against the top of your head, placing something close to a kiss on your hair.

“Yeah, I don’t get enough of you during 12-hour workdays. You want a drink?”

“Yeah.” The hug broke away and he smiled down at you, a look which you returned with a bit of reservation. You were far enough into the bar now from moving to meet Mencken that you only had to turn a bit to address the bartender. “Can I get a vodka martini?” A silent nod confirmed your order.

“Walk with me.” Jeryd whispered into the shell of your ear, stooping down a bit to level himself to your height. He offered an arm out to you, and you grabbed on with a hand as the two of you began moving through the crowded bar.

You saw a few familiar faces as you slowly progressed, which you greeted with small smiles and hellos. Mencken was stopped more times than you, something you had learned to accept when with him, but he was hasty in ending conversations as he pulled you through the crowd. It took longer than it should for the two of you to finally arrive at the empty booth in the back of the bar, but you were happy all the same to sit down on the cool red leather seat. He sat across from you, because of course he did, and you heard a small sigh escape his lips as he relaxed a bit against the seat behind him.

         Both of you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting in each other’s presence. There was something thick about the air around the table, something dark in the way he looked at you, eyes never leaving yours. You broke out of the haze as the bartender from earlier set your drink at the table, which you welcomed with an acknowledging smile. As you lifted the drink to your lips, he finally spoke.

         “I’m glad you came.” You swallowed thickly, a slight burn grazing your throat before opening your mouth again.

         “Well, I had to celebrate your television debut,” you responded with a small teasing smile, he scoffed a bit at your joking.

         “The numbers were good.” He said quietly, unwavering eyes still trained to yours. There’s something he’s not saying, you felt it in his short responses and slightly clenched jaw, the way he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and how his empty hand flexed a bit against the dark wood table. You hummed in response, taking another sip of your martini. It was quiet again for a moment, the two of you just staring and drinking, tension building until you broke it.

         “Is there something wrong? Did someone fuck something up?” You finally questioned him, shaking your head a bit as you spoke. He just smiled and exhaled through his nose, moved to lean forward and placed his elbows on the table.

         “It’s… personal,” he took his time answering, searching for the right word before he spoke. And you think you might have just messed everything up, ruined the unsaid attraction between you two. He hadn’t been one to shy away from personal topics before, you might have just pushed him too far. “But hey, marital issues are basically a rite of passage in the oval office,” he joked with a grin.

         “True, it’s probably a sign of your future. Might wanna get used to it,” you matched his tone. You knew it was fucked up to be attracted to a married man, a man currently talking about his troubles with his wife, but something about that smile sent a wave of shock down your stomach and found yourself subtlety squeezing your thighs together beneath your skirt. Regardless, he laughed at your answer, and you smiled at his amusement.

         You continued this way for a while, small talk and meaningless conversations just to make each other laugh. You poked fun at his age and he joked about your fucked up family. Around and around you go, drinks are removed and refilled, coworkers stop by for a few minutes before leaving, and others just wave before making their way out. The next time you checked your phone, two hours had passed and more drinks than you probably should have on a near empty stomach had been consumed.

         “Shit, I should get going. I have a meeting tomorrow I need to be ready for.” You mumbled a bit, looking down at your screen with cheeks flushed a light red from the alcohol in your system and the presence of Jeryd across from you. The bar was nearly empty by then, and completely devoid of your co-workers. Any last lingering customers were patrons of the hotel, and you were suddenly struck by the realization you were practically alone with him.

         “You sure? It’s late, I have a suite on the top floor and the guest bed is empty.” He had lost his suit jacket by then and pushed up his sleeves in the way you loved so much. His arms were open and rested on the top of the booth, elbows slightly bent and hands lightly gesturing as he spoke. You pressed your lips together, biting the bottom one and contemplated. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to stay, didn’t wonder what would happen if you accepted. It was a bad idea, you both knew it, backed by the gold ring on his left hand and the NDA you signed when accepting your job so long ago. Still, he cocked an eyebrow at your silence and beneath the table you felt the toe of his black leather loafers travel up the expanse of your leg. He started at your ankle, just above your designer heels and slowly moved up the inside of your lower leg, beginning to reach the inside of your knee. You had enough time to stop him, to move away, kick his foot away and leave the bar.

But you didn’t. You didn’t want to. So instead, you opened your mouth slightly, your bottom lip slightly wet from your bite to it earlier.

         “Yeah, okay. I probably shouldn’t be driving.” It was a half assed excuse and you both knew it. You barely drove, and you’d been dropped off at the hotel today so there was no way you were driving home in the first place. But maybe you needed some justification for yourself, something to make your subconscious just a little less guilty for what you were about to do. For what you wanted to do.

         Mencken didn’t press, though. He just nodded, tapping his toe lightly on the inside of your thigh before retracting it to stand up. The loss was sudden and a bit jarring, and it made you notice that you had been subtly leaning into his touch. He put back on his jacket, not bothering to roll down his sleeves as he moved beside the table to help you up, extending a hand to you. Slowly, you reached up and gently placed your hand in his. His skin was surprisingly rough for a man who worked a desk job, you could feel calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers. He pulled some of your weight as you stood, reaching around with your free hand to smooth the back of your skirt and grab the handles of your small purse. When you met his eyes again, his pupils had grown and a smirk had landed on his otherwise stoic face.

“Lead the way,” you spoke so softly that your lips barely moved, your eyes looking up at him through dark lashes. He nodded again. His eyes dragged over the curves of your body before briefly returning to your eyes. As you began walking, your hand rose from clutching his to softly holding his arm just above the bend in his elbow. You maintained just enough distance between your bodies that the interaction could be passed off as polite, not the breaking point of months of unresolved sexual tension that it was. Mencken walked fast, you almost tripped over your feet a few times as you tried to keep pace with him. The halls were ornate, outfitted in marble flooring that left your shoes clacking frantically with your hurried steps.

The pair of you stopped briefly at the entrance to the elevators, and you took the time to quickly glance over your shoulder behind you, finding the room otherwise empty. You weren’t sure whether you should be relieved or disappointed. Relieved for a lack of witnesses. Disappointed that you couldn’t use a crowd as an excuse to call off the encounter. It would be for the better to forget about it, put the flirtations to an end and abort the budding affair. You were putting your job at risk, your credibility and your public image. Not to mention your relationship with your family.

He pressed the elevator button once, twice, three times. You opened your mouth slightly, the beginnings of a sentence forming on your lips when he moved his arm from your grasp, snaking it around your back to rest on your hip. He pressed the fabric of your skirt gently, and you found your side pressing against his. Warmth radiated through your body, going straight to your cheeks as a subtle blush started to grow. Your mouth was left hanging open, silently gasping for air as he delicately traced his lips in a small line over your hair. His large nose pressed into your scalp, you felt him slowly inhale the scent of your shampoo. The moment was the closest thing to tender you’ve ever experienced from him, and it’s over just after it starts.

A loud ding from the elevator dragged your attention from the feeling of Jeryd to the empty elevator in front of you. You looked from him to the space before you. He was watching you, of course. Waiting for your next move. Either into the elevator and a time of lies and careful discretion, or back to what you knew was safe. 

You walked into the elevator.

The second the hotel door clicks shut, Jeryd is on you. Pressing your back into the nearest wall, his hands cradle your face with a surprising amount of care. His knee slots between your legs and he takes a moment to just look at you. Your chest rises and falls quickly, mouth open and eyes blown wide with passion. 

“Tell me you want this.” He breathes into you.

“What?” You gasp out the question, mind too foggy with desire to quickly process his words.

“Tell me you want this. I need to hear it from you.” His hands move from cupping your face to grab your chin, your lips slightly pouting with the pressure on your skin. The air is silent for a moment before you answer.

“I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before it's covered by his, greedy and heavy and passionate. You move with him, slinging your arms around his shoulders and leaning into his touch. His tongue taps at your bottom lip before entering your mouth, tracing lines on the roof of it. You let out a quiet moan and his knee moves up between your thighs, granting you a source of friction for the heat building between your legs. You grind down on it unabashedly, sighing at the sensation that results. Jeryd smiles against your lips before moving one of his hands from your face to your hip, encouraging the movements you’re making against his leg. A whimper escapes your lips and he groans at the noise, your attention moving to the growing bulge you feel pressed into your lower stomach. 

He kisses you like a man starved. Like he could do it forever, just savoring the flavor of your lips. You move a hand from his shoulder to feel down the front of his chest and reach his crotch. Your fingers press lightly against the seam of his pants, rubbing the fabric just enough to earn a low growl from Jeryd’s throat and a restrained buck of his hips. His lips move from yours to travel down your neck, sucking your skin hard enough to leave bruises that’ll last the week. Your lips part when freed from his kiss and your neck falls slightly to the slide, allowing him more access to the small area not covered by your button up, office appropriate blouse. A small nip of his teeth causes you to squeeze the hand covering his groin, a movement that causes Jeryd to muffle a deep moan into the slope of your neck. 

“Fuck.” You sound wrecked, desperate, needy, and Jeryd’s barely touched you. You’re rolling your hips steadily now, too far gone to worry about his reaction. Pencil skirt hiked up, skin-toned stockings on display, you selfishly chase your own climax. Eyes flutter shut as you focus on the sensations enveloping your body. Jeryd’s wet kisses trailing down your neck, his hands possessive on your hips and chin, his leg sandwiched between your thighs and pressing roughly against your core. Two thin layers of fabric separating you, both providing a deliciously coarse texture against your sensitive clit.  Your panties are soaked, you wouldn’t be surprised if his slacks are left with a wet mark when he removes them. 

His hands move from their places to begin undoing the buttons on your top. Your eyes open with heavy lids as you watch him. He’s hurried, urgent, his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted while his fingers move nimbly, making quick work of your blouse. You move to help him, together pushing the garment off your shoulders. He bends his knees slightly to level his face to your chests, and you momentarily whine at the loss of pressure against your vulva, but the sight your eyes are greeted with is worth it. His hands are immediately on your breasts, cupping you roughly through your bra and pushing your tits together as he plants sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your cleavage. It’s odd to see him like this, slightly bent over, serving someone other than himself and enjoying it. Hair ruffled and forehead damp with sweat, pupils blown wide, wide, wide, with lust. You thread your fingers through his salt and pepper hair, not pulling or controlling, just wanting to touch him.

The throbbing between your legs increases and your thighs clench together with nothing else to stimulate your core. You whimper, he chuckles at the sound, a vibration traveling through your chest and sending electric shocks straight to your center. Jeryd reaches up, moving the straps of your bra down your shoulders, not bothering to move his face from his attack on your breasts. You push it down to your waist, not bothering to unclasp the back, fully exposing your tits to him. Now he pauses, taking a moment to crouch down and sit back a bit on his heels, eyes focused on your body before him. Your immediate reaction is to cover up, but you hold yourself back when his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. When he finally meets your gaze, you're sure you must look wrecked, at least if his smirk is anything to go off of. 

“Look at you. So eager for my touch.” Jeryd speaks quietly, getting closer to you as his hands travel up your thighs to rest on the dip of your hips. His fingers dig in slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to control you and dimple your skin underneath his touch. One hand comes up, kneading the flesh of your left breast. The other moves to unclip your bra from behind you, letting it softly fall to the floor. You nod and bite your lower lip, knees knocked together as your thighs rub against each other, desperately chasing some kind of stimulation. Your eyes drop his gaze as you watch him palm your skin. 

“Please..” You whine out, blushing as you make eye contact again. Mencken laughs, only a little mean, takes your nipple between his fingers and pinches enough to make your voice squeak in your throat.

“If you want something you have to ask for it.” He cocks an eyebrow as he speaks and you swear you’re drooling at the look in his eye. You hesitate a minute before responding, feeling strangely self conscious and filthy.

“Please touch me, Jeryd. I need you.” He smiles and curses before returning his mouth to your breasts. A large hand creeps between your thighs, pressing gently on the soaked fabric of your panties. He speaks into your skin as he feels your need.

“So wet for me already. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting if I’d known how desperate you were.” His touch is feather light, and you feel your cunt clenching at the sensation. His hand doesn’t wait long, hooking your panties to the slide before he begins to slide his middle finger through your sopping wet folds. Your hips buck against his touch, he responds by moving a hand to pin your hip against the wall. Your head is thrown back now, resting against the surface behind you. Blush is hot on your face, you can’t figure out if it’s caused by shame, or desire, or the combination of both.

It’s not long before his fingers are gently probing your entrance, his middle digit entering you up to his second knuckle. You clench around him, moaning at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you. His thumb moves to your clit, spreading your wetness there as he massages small circles into the bundle of nerves. Instinctively, you try to move, try to grind down on his palm and take what you want. Jeryd’s hand keeps your back to the wall though, and he tsks at your disobedience. Your eyes move down and you find him staring back at you. You wonder if he’s ever looked away, or if he’s just been relishing in your desperation. 

His finger presses deeper, your folds met with the skin of his first knuckle. He curves the digit, gently pressing against that spongy tissue deep inside of you. When he finds it, he smirks, looks down at your exposed mound and briefly presses a kiss to your upper stomach. The finger moves, thrusting in and out of your cunt a few times before being joined by his index finger. It stretches just a bit, before the sensation is replaced by one of building pleasure. That heat you’ve been chasing courses through your core, your lips parting at the feeling. Shocks of pleasure course down your thighs as your clit becomes more and more sensitive. 

You were slightly shocked when your legs began to shake, kness almost buckling under the jerky motion. It normally took you much longer to climax when with a partner, but you had been so needy for so long that your orgasm was approaching at a rapid speed. Jeryd felt it too, wrapping a free arm around the back of your hips to help hold you up while your cunt clenches and flutters around his fingers.

“Come on, Cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” He whispers, leaning his upper body back slightly to look deeply into your eyes. You barely hear him over the filthy sounds of wet skin and your increasingly loud moans. His words have to register somewhere though, and just a few seconds after he utters the command, you obey. Eyes roll back while you constrict around his fingers, gasps of air leaving your throat. Jeryd is relentless, finger fucking you through your orgasm until you’re overstimulated and practically pushing his hand away.

Your eyes haven’t even opened again when you feel him stand and crash his lips crash back into yours, his hands raking through your hair. Unhindered by his grip, you move your arms to press him against you, rolling your hips into his.You groan in unison, and Jeryd takes the moment to move one of his hands to the back of your skirt, quickly unzipping it. Your grip releases for a moment to push the skirt and your panties down your legs, kicking them off your heels further into the room. Neither of you bothers with your thigh high stockings or shoes, too engrossed in the feeling of your exposed skin to pay them any mind. 

The pair of you separate for a moment. Jeryd’s eyes travel down your body, a curse escaping his lips at the sight. You look vulnerable, powerless under him. He loves it. His lips go back to your throat and his hands reach for your breasts again. In turn, your hands fumble with a few buttons on his shirt, exposing the top of his chest before you abandon the garment and travel down to the seam of his pants. Your fingers linger on the zipper. Asking for permission or readying yourself or wanting him to tell you what to do, it doesn’t matter. All that matters in this moment is Jeryd Mencken and the passion burning through both your bodies.

He nods against your neck and you waste no time in undoing the button and zipper of his slacks. His boxers are black, your fingers flutter under the elastic waistband, stroking the soft skin there lightly. Your hand dips lower, past the mass of short blond pubic hair climbing up his lower stomach, settling on the base of his cock. Slowly, you begin to pump his length. When you reach his tip you dip your fingernail slightly into the slit there, and Jeryd rolls his hips forward in response with a loud groan. A wide smile graces your face, your hand surging faster in his boxers. 

“Fuck, take it out.” He traces his nose up the side of your neck, whispering into the shell of your ear. Of course you comply, how could you not? Your eyes dart down to his cock, getting your first good look at the skin there. He’s an average thickness but long, longer than you’ve taken before. With a slight curve upwards and a pink tip dripping with pre-cum, you clench around emptiness in sympathy. Your hand moves again, jerking him off as his head falls back and his eyes shut. You savor the sight before you. 

Jeryd’s eyebrows are raised and his lips are parted, completely and totally lost in his pleasure. His neck now exposed to you, you lean forward and press kisses along the underside of his jawline, trailing down to his Adam's apple. You’re careful not to leave marks, even if you nip a little at the sensitive skin that your lips brush. His eyes open again, and he grins at the coy smile on your face. He kisses you again, his tongue stroking the roof of your mouth, causing you to moan loudly into his lips before he pulls away.

“Here, wrap your legs around me. I’m gonna fuck you right next to this door, let the rest of the hotel hear how loud my cock makes you.” He moves against you, pressing his hips to yours, slotting his arms around your waist. You wrap a leg around the back of his hips before he helps hoist you up to wrap the other. His length is hard against your lower stomach, the tip spreading wet precum across the skin there. Your hand moves down, grasping it and pumping a few more times when Jeryd moves his hips back, creating enough space between you for his tip to brush against your folds. 

He tilts his hips again, rubbing himself across your pussy, catching on your clit just enough to make you rock your core forward to try and meet him. A breathy laugh escapes his mouth at your attempt, he rewards your debauchery by circling his hand around his base and roughly tapping his tip against the bundle of nerves. You sigh and let your head fall back, watching him move with heavily lidded eyes. Jeryd moves again, using his hand to position himself at your entrance. He teases you a bit, slightly shifting in and out without fully sheathing his cock inside of you. 

“Jeryd…” Your voice is whiney as you speak, but still carries an edge of warning with it. He just smiles that lopsided grin of his, takes a deep breath in, and presses fully into you.

There’s a slight stretch as you adjust to his length, you can’t help your mouth falling open in ecstasy at the feeling. As he bottoms out, he releases his breath with a groan and you feel his tip brush against your cervix. You’re needy and wanton, whimpering and moaning at his every twitch, wiggling your hips to try and get some relief as he keeps himself deep inside your cunt. His face is tucked into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You feel your entire being aching for him. Another mewl escapes your lips, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. He’s waiting for you to break first. So you do.

“Please fuck me.” Your voice is barely a whisper, your hands traveling to cup his chin. Jeryd surges forward, even deeper into your dripping pussy, and kisses you roughly on the mouth. He bites your lower lip, slightly pulling it with him as he moves away, and your hands find their place again on his shoulders. His hips move back, so far that his length almost slips out of you, before thrusting forward. He sets a brutal pace from the beginning. Hard and fast, pulling noises you didn’t know you could make from the depths of your throat. It almost hurts at the beginning, but then he tilts his hips and finds that spot inside of you, the one that lights a roaring fire inside your cunt. The pleasure is immense and all consuming, the only thing you can focus on as your head drops backward and your back begins to arch.

You don’t even recognize half the words leaving your throat. Strings of “please,” curses and mumbles come from your mouth, joined by the animalistic grunts and groans of Jeryd’s approaching climax. Your fingers tangle in his hair and this time you pull, earning a deep moan from his parted lips. The sex feels primal and wanton and borderline violent. The culmination of heavy pressure. A cord stretched as tight as possible and then some, the snapping of which caused depravity and perversion for all those involved.

 He grinds into you roughly, hitting your g spot perfectly with every thrust. Your hand moves down to rub frantic circles into your clit, repeatedly murmuring a line of “yes”’s as you stare deeply into Jeryd's eyes. You know you’re pathetic. Begging and pleading him to fuck you harder, the wet slick from your cunt spreading onto both of your thighs, causing truely obscene sounds to fill the air. 

“Fuck, look at you. My pretty little slut..” He groans out, punctuating his words with strong bucks of his hips. “Cum on my cock, you’re fucking mine” he says, adding your name like it’s a divine word. 

That's all it really takes, and with a particularly perfect movement of your fingers, you clench down on his cock in a harsh climax. You swear you see white for a moment, your toes curling in your heels, your back arching up from the wall behind you, the moan coming out of your mouth echoing around the hotel room. All you can do next is hold on as Jeryd’s hips stutter and his mouth comes down to bite on your exposed shoulder as he follows you to his own peak.

He spills inside of you, fucking his cum further into you while he thrusts through his own orgasm. A “fuck” falls from his lips, muffled by the skin his mouth is pressed into. You stay like that for a minute, heavily breathing and coated in sweat, his softening cock still inside of you. When you finally move away, he’s surprisingly careful. Setting you back down on your feet delicately before tucking himself back away. Your hands come up to instinctively cover yourself, feeling insecure now that he wasn’t actively fucking you. His hand grabs one of yours, removing it from its position in front of your breast as he steps closer to you. You speak first, quietly and full of question.

“I can go…” you look behind him for your clothing strewn across the carpeted floor.

“No. Stay the night, I meant it.” Jeryd pulls you into him, his larger form tucking around your body in a hug. He rests his chin on your head. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you go so quickly. Not after I’ve waited so long to have you.”

You smile at that, let him press a kiss to the top of your head before he grabs your hand and begins leading you to the bedroom. 

He’s passionate and possessive and caring and mean. You live in the shadows together, wrapped in deceit and white bed sheets. You never comment on the lack of his gold wedding band, and he never mentions the taste of vodka on your tongue. Your fights are brutal and sadistic, always ending in sex that would make the bed shake and leave your bodies sore for days after. It’s more of an alliance than an affair. It’s more of a tragedy than a comedy.

It’s more of a promise than a question.

© secondhand-snow 2024

[poorlittleyaoyao]

Top 4 Jiang Yanli Survival Scenarios That Still Allow the Plot to Happen

HOT TAKE: JYL didn't actually need to die and the story would still be plenty crunchy if she hadn't. (Also, it is geographically implausible for her to somehow get all the way from Koi Tower to Nightless City unless she was faking her low cultivation this whole time and secretly mastered teleportation talismans, but that's not what this is about.) Below are 4 ways JYL could live that would still allow the major post-timeskip plot beats to unfold.

SCENARIO 1: JYL remains a widow and stays in Lanling as a member of the Jin household.

SCENARIO 2: JYL is married off to JGY after JZX's death (+ a spicier, alternate version of this)

SCENARIO 3: JYL ends up married off to NMJ after JZX's death.

SCENARIO 4: JYL remains a widow and returns to Lotus Pier.

With descriptions under the cut!

SCENARIO 1: JYL remains a widow and stays in Lanling as a member of the Jin household.

THE POTENTIAL: JYL in this scenario occupies a fraught position at Koi Tower; she has some sway as Jin Ling's mother, but it's unclear where Jin Ling stands in the line of succession. (She's also now trapped in JGS's household without a male guardian so. You know. That's great. 😬) JGY would strive to foster a positive relationship with her, I think; she doesn't pose a threat to him, and even if he has no personal affection for her, showing kindness to his sister-in-law is good optics and maintains the alliance with Lotus Pier. What are the ramifications of that? Maybe she becomes close with QS and help advocate for her marriage? (Maybe she then becomes close-close with QS later on, given that they'd both be terribly starved for physical intimacy.) Maybe she stumbles upon some of the secrets of the Jinlintai Murder Basement and becomes one of NHS's informants. Maybe she has no idea about the Murder Basement and is as shocked and appalled as everyone else when she learns about JGY's crimes and wonders how the hell she didn't realize any of this was happening. Good stuff!

SCENARIO 2A: JYL is married off to JGY after JZX's death.

THE POTENTIAL: Much the same as above, except now JYL has sealed her position as THEE Jin-furen once JGY ascends to Sect Leader and Chief Cultivator. She and JGY are connected with and presumably have developed some degree of fondness for each other, which makes the reveal of JGY's actions that much more dramatic! She's going to feel as betrayed and conflicted as LXC does, and is going to struggle when both her brothers end up in opposition to her husband. Does JGY persuade her to go with him to Dongying, or does he take her hostage as he does LXC? To what degree does proximity to JGY make her potential collateral damage for NHS? This is all very stressful for JYL, but it averts the terrible, horrible, no-good very bad accidental incest marriage with QS, so... winning!

SCENARIO 2B (CQL only): JYL and JGY marry after JZX's death, but had a whole affair going on prior to that.

THE POTENTIAL: There's this one chaotic group interview with a bunch of the CQL actors where they're like "HMMM IT'S PRETTY SUS THAT JIN LING LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE HIS UNCLE!! SHIJIE HAS SOME EXPLAINING TO DO!!" and while poor Zhu Zanjin was sitting there going "nooo stop it's not like that! it's a coincidence! ☹️" it had me like 👀because I love mess. My fave interpretation of Claudius and Gertrude in Hamlet is that they were always in love with each other and Claudius killed King Hamlet 1.0 so he could be with her (obligatory plug for Haider, my fave Hamlet adaptation, which has this precise dynamic and it's *chef's kiss*), and like... what if THAT'S going on. JYL can have an extramarital affair with far-reaching consequences, as a treat. Sorry, Jin Ling, but the revelations from Guanyin Temple just got THAT much more complicated for you to process.

SCENARIO 3: JYL ends up married off to NMJ after JZX's death.

THE POTENTIAL: Ohohohoho, this one might be my favorite one. The Jin clan (possibly at JGY's suggestion) marry JYL off to NMJ in an attempt to repair Lanling's relationship with Qinghe and get NMJ to stop wilding. NMJ and JYL hit it off (shared experiences include: being parentified at a young age, violently losing a parent to the Wen clan, a strong sense of duty, and chronic illness)... but NMJ does not, in fact, stop wilding, so JGY begins playing Turmoil. NMJ's increasingly volatile behavior would be even more terrifying for JYL than it is for NHS--she's not only worried about her own safety, but if the Jin clan deem the Unclean Realm unsafe for little JL, then JYL's not going to get to see her son. Once NMJ succumbs to qi deviation, JYL is widowed once again, and she's starting to wonder if she's cursed... until her brother-in-law comes to her with his suspicions about JGY. (She might even be the one to ignite the suspicions in CQL canon, since she's present for LWJ playing Cleansing for WWX and thus knows what it's supposed to sound like.) Now JYL is pissed, and even more worried about JL's safety. She keeps Qinghe afloat while NHS goes into his scheming flop era, and perhaps even suggests to him that WWX is the person to call if he wants his brother back. As NHS's plan endangers people JYL cares about--including her son! repeatedly!--JYL starts to question his methods and regrets not confiding in JC instead, but the die is cast at this point.

SCENARIO 4: JYL remains a widow and returns to Lotus Pier.

THE POTENTIAL: This isn't bringing the spicy melodrama the way the other scenarios are, but I do like the quieter change it means for her, JC, and JL. JC doesn't have nearly as much unresolved grief to work through with his sister still alive, and would be a better-adjusted person. He might, in fact, be even better-adjusted than JYL herself, who grieves for and loves WWX but cannot forgive him for killing her husband. WWX upon his resurrection would have to face the consequences of shijie's anger, and now they're the ones having a tearful heart-to-heart in a public space while JC frets. (And then they ALL get to deal with the golden core transplant fallout! Woo!) Plus, an unattached JYL would have the freedom to accompany JL to Lanling, so she's going to be closer with JGY and QS and be present for whatever the hell happened with MXY, so she is going to have some REACTIONS to certain revelations, let me tell you!

I would love to write any one of these, but I am the world's slowest writer, so if it's up to me, they will never actually happen. So fly forth, ideas! Be free! If you write one of these, hmu, because I'd love to read it!

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (pt. 6)

“we’ll figure out the nitty-gritty along the way,” serena once said. but never once did she mention anything about figuring out this alien feeling mason got whenever she was concerned.

playboy!mason x princess!OC wc: 2.2k tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only, but particularly extramarital affair to a marriage of convenience for this particular chapter note: i'm sorry this chapter doesn't contain spoilers as i've mentioned in the previous one. things changed as i was writing this down but i hope you like this one the same! <3 but as usual, i happen to write this at dawn so this is not beta-read yet. tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie @808heartz <3 (lmk if you wanna be added!) < part 5 - part 7 > sweetest devotion masterlist

“please let me know—”

mason was pacing back and forth, making sure everything was within his sister’s sight, especially serena’s meds, so when serena woke up, jasmine would be able to reach them without difficulty, considering her growing stomach.

“mason tony mount,” and the called man halted his steps. “stop moving this instance.”

the youngest of four didn’t have much choice other than to follow the instruction. the last time jasmine announced his full name, he was called out for having a mistress. whom, ironically at that time, he’d gladly choose over serena, and look where the blind devotion had gotten him into.

“you moving around doesn’t help my nausea so dear god, please help this bloody pregnant woman and stop moving,” jasmine sat down on the nearest sofa, huffing out her palpable frustration. “I know the drill of being caretaker, okay? now go,”

right, the sole reason of mason calling jasmine for help.

he could be walking away freely like he wasn’t accountable, because serena being admitted to the hospital wasn’t his wrongdoing anyway. but ask anyone in the nurse station and they’d gush over how much of a good husband mason mount was.

you could barely find him outside of serena’s room, except to go to the training ground or fetching his own portion of food, and he’d always drop something by on the nurse station’s desk whenever he came back from them. and whenever it was time for a nurse or doctor’s visit, they’d find the husband recounting what happened at work to the wife, who’d listen attentively and respond accordingly. he’d take her for a stroll to the garden at the back of the hospital before the sun set too, as per the doctor’s recommendation, complete with jackets and warm drinks sat underneath the wheelchair.

but no matter how much he played the dutiful husband the past days, he was still an active footballer by the end of the day. going for an away match was inevitable, thus the reason why his sister was in the hospital now.

jasmine didn’t know the reason why, and mason hadn’t bothered to say anything else other than “serena hasn’t been feeling well”. technically he wasn’t lying, but one look at the nasty blue marks on serena’s cheeks was more than enough of an explanation for jasmine. certainly it wasn’t mason because his brother didn’t have it in him to hit a dangerous animal, let alone a woman, but the older mount wasn’t expecting an answer until either serena or mason was ready to give her one.

what happens in one’s household should stay inside, they say.

“text me if something—”

“happens, yes, I know, mase,” jasmine clicked her tongue as she rolled her eyes, obviously in annoyance. “I thought you didn’t care about serena?”

right, the sole reason of mason calling jasmine for help.

aside from his initial worry, he thought jasmine would be the safest option to ask for help because, by far, she was the only one who knew about his extramarital affair—or at least, who admitted to mason that she knew about it and voiced her honest opinion on the matter.

yet, she hadn’t said anything since then and his entire family hadn’t cut off his ears by berating him, so surely jasmine also hadn’t spilled a thing to the rest of his kin. it was within his intuition to trust serena’s life in her hands while he was away because surely jasmine wouldn’t drop anything that could possibly worsen serena’s condition, especially anything in relation to elena.

if anything, jasmine was the first person mason should apologise to—other than serena, of course—because he hadn’t been listening well. he remembered clearly, much to his own dismay, of his annoyance when jasmine particularly called him out about elena, only for him to accuse her of being unsupportive sister when she was anything but.

“oh shit,” the silence mason entertained was enough of a reason for jasmine to sit up, now fully interested at the turn of events. “what changes?”

“please, no more foul language around my little niece,” mason sighed. from a third point of view, it was a deep breath let out to emphasis one’s frustration. but jasmine knew better, she knew her brother. “why are you smiling?”

“nothing,” jasmine hummed rather cheerily, her eyes glinting something dangerous mason didn’t want to find out yet. “just what changes, mase?”

another sigh coming from jasmine’s other end. her brother could be seen pinching the bridge of his nose, in hope to soothe his invisible confusion. confused as to how to answer his own sister because he truly didn’t know the answer.

what changed? everything.

nothing changed yet everything changed, if that made sense. but nothing was making sense in mason’s standard currently.

yet everything was making sense in jasmine’s standard. “do you love her?”

“no,” that much, mason could give out. “of course not.”

“do you like her?”

“yes,” that much, mason could give out. who didn’t like serena? aside from him, a thousand of eldorran people could vouch on their soft spot towards the princess. “if not, I wouldn’t be marrying her.”

jasmine smiled wider. she might not know whatever reason his stupid brother married the youngest monarch in the first place, but mason’s answer was enough.

at least for now.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

what jasmine didn’t know was that mason had asked serena’s stay to be prolonged until he had elena under control. aka, being under police custody.

it was a rather long legal process to get her taken by the authority, and it was still an ongoing battle. so he didn’t want to risk it, not when he had two lives to protect now, until he knew all of them were able to breathe safely without being hunted by an unwanted ghost of the past.

the only people currently allowed to enter mason’s premise were only him and the house’s caretaker he’d entrusted with since the first time he moved here. maybe even longer, since she’d also worked for the previous owner. but it was also because she left the house when she was done with her work—he’d never felt so lucky she refused his offer to become a live-in caretaker a long time ago, or else mason surely had fired her too as he didn’t want to risk her life as well.

“the duffel bag for your wife is by the door, mr. mount,” the caretaker lady spoke up as mason entered the kitchen, ready to ask of her another plate of his favourite cheat meal. “please let me know if you need anything else.

“thank you, sam,” and he was truly grateful sam stayed behind the past couple of days, just until mason left the house after getting fresh set of clothes, because he didn’t know what to do about serena’s wardrobe if he was left alone. he didn’t want to intrude serena’s privacy just yet, not even when he’d be forgiven if he told her the reason why. “but could you make me that broccoli fusilli with cheese you always store in the fridge? I haven’t had the chance to grab a meal.”

“broccoli fusilli?”

mason looked up from his seat, puzzled. “yes, you usually wrap them with clear foil with some other dishes,”

maybe mason should start feeling less lucky sam previously refused to become a live-in caretaker. there were too many things that he started not knowing of ever since serena lived under the same roof as his, things that sam could’ve told him if she’d come to live with him.

when sam didn’t move from her spot, mason braved himself to ask the multimillion dollar question. “didn’t you make all those food?”

“no, mr. mount,” the older woman shook her head, as confused as he was. “your wife never lets me touch the kitchen since you both got married. it’s all her cooking.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

since sam’s last words, mason hadn’t been the same person as he was when he returned to his house from the hospital earlier that afternoon. mason hadn’t been the same person—heck, mason hadn’t been a person at all during the entire trip to the away game.

he recalled having the fridge always stocked. with his favourite snacks, beverages, and beers—a chore he remembered giving to sam on the earliest days of the caretaker. the frozen and wrapped dishes he’d like to warm up whenever he came by the house after spending his time with elena in her home, was indeed only recently, but he never expected them to be made and left there by his wife. he only thought sam was having extra energy of some sort to cook too much for two—serena and herself—that she left some for him to heat up later.

what else did serena do for him?

“what’s bothering you, lad?”

ben chilwell’s voice snapped mason’s thoughts into a wreckage, but mason could say he needed it. they were coming on shortly, for god’s sake. “nothing, just my wife.”

“I thought you don’t have a wife?” ben’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. the left back remembered vividly mason’s admission to not having a wife yet because that title was supposedly reserved for elena. now that the other lady was tangled in a legal battle—one mason didn’t bother telling him of, by the way, that he had to find out from their common friend’s mouths—ben wondered who mason might be referring to. “do you have another mistress or something?”

if mason pulled the rug under his feet, ben was more than ready to chase the younger man down the bloody hall.

“no! of course not!” mason shook his head off rather violently, expressing his extreme distaste towards ben’s accusation. “I mean, serena.”

“how’s she, by the way?” despite sharing mutuals with elena, ben couldn’t help but become concerned towards the princess this time around. “I hope she’s getting better.”

“she is, thanks for asking,” mason threw his best friend the “formal” smile because while he was happy serena had indeed been getting better, he wouldn’t know how to make of their impending situation when he got back. “it’s just that... I don’t know, mate. I can’t believe still that elena could do such thing.”

“no one saw that coming, mase,” ben patted down mason’s knees, giving him a reassurance smile, letting the fan’s favourite know he shared the same sentiment. “don’t fret so much about it.”

“I thought she was the one, you know?” mason let out another deep sigh, a developing habit he vowed to eradicate soon, as he tied his shoes tighter. “maybe she still is.”

“if you think she is, you need to get rid of serena,” ben crouched down to put his shinpad in place. “you know that, right?”

“I do, but I can’t seem to do that to her. not after what elena did to her,” mason’s statement actually halted ben’s movement for a split second because it was all a lot to take in, honestly. “maybe I’ll purse elena again after I’ve got it sorted with serena.”

“so is it elena or serena?”

ben was expecting mason to give him a straight, direct answer but a hesitant mason was not in the cards, at all. if someone told ben about this side of mason a month ago, he would’ve laughed at their face.

“forget I asked,” ben was honestly scared of the thought mason changing overnight, not when he knew the younger footballer had been head over heels with his model, muse—whatever it is he calls her with—since the first time he laid his eyes on her. “why do you care so much about serena anyway?”

ben’s question might be simple but it was enough to stun mason in his place.

why do you care so much about her?

at that precise moment, his phone vibrated in his hands. rather violently, compared to the empty state of his mind, but speaking of the devil…

good luck for today.

same text, from the same person, on the same time. sent impeccably 30 minutes before match, just right before the gaffer’s pre-match brief.

mason didn’t know he was holding a bated breath but as he read the text once more, a small smile crept into his face. it was the text he’d been waiting for. even though he didn’t always reply to them, she never missed out on telling him what she was up to—always watching him from home was what she was conveying.

not even elena managed to pull out a routine such as.

and that was when mason knew he had the answer to ben’s earlier question; because she cares about him, always has.

it was only right to reciprocate it, no?

“I hope that’s not the guilt speaking,” mason looked up to the older englishman, who patted his shoulder just now as he looked over mason’s shoulder, only to find the text from serena. “you were so adamant to propose elena a month ago, remember?”

the word guilt rang in mason’s ears more violently than an earthquake ever could.

next chapter contains:

“mason, what are you doing here?” “I’m making sure no one barges into the house and attack you again.”

[glorianamultistan]

Repeated love (Baekhyun x Male Reader)

Part 2

Should there be a second chapter, when all has ended with the strokes of a few signatures? There are times when butterflies have left the cases of some lepidopterists and with winged effects brought tornados to register that they lived and still have enough life even though they glorify some shelves or walls from behind the glass.

It all comes down to a slip in the wrong room while trying to find a place to lie down. Baekhyun never thought that seeing y/n sitting all dolled up for the party would make him lose some balance of mind.

The next mistake was of y/n, running arms open to kissing his ex in a room where he spent the former night with his husband.

Neither of the two was going to take a chance like this, they were not allowed to, too much was at risk. Two well-publicised marriages establishing relationships between multiple elite families, and here still, with whispers and moans, y/n let it all go. Four months and the body breaks only for the one the heart accepts.

After the dilemma of not wanting to leave each other's warmth, both went their separate ways for the sake of the party.

The next few days were hard for y/n as he tried hard to face his husband calmly. He was not a bad man per se, he liked y/n and was respectful to him and his choices, it was just that he was not, for now, allowing y/n to go out alone.

"Y/n I just ask for a month, after that, you can go wherever you wish to, I promise complete freedom, not from marriage obviously as we are in it till the end."

"But why!? This is illegal! You can't possibly not let me go out. I have a life to live, and events to attend."

"Oh honey, you come from L/n family, you know how laws are for all of us, right? Now, be a good husband and wait for me, I will be back soon."

It was a forced hug and a close-lipped kiss, and with that, he left y/n in the study, miserable enough to cry a little before going to his room to get his phone and message.

'I am not allowed to go out hyung. All of them, even my parents are in this.'

'Baby, I will be meeting your husband today in a meeting; I will ask about you.'

'Hyung! Why will you do this!? Don't do anything rash like this.'

'Don't worry, I will ask as a person interested in knowing the new partner of their business partner.'

'Just don't let the mask fall, please.'

'Won't you pick it up if I do, like the last time?'

'If you put me in such a position then I will have to do it because I do not want the chances to end like this.'

Explicit extramarital affairs as a member of such a class would not only ruin the chances of future re-establishment of the name but it will once and for all make the life in the country end too. Even though Baekhyun has connections well enough that he can leave the country and still confirm an easy life for y/m and him, he still has to plan everything properly; after all his own husband should not get the idea of anything going on.

The days go on as slumbered heat makes them overlap for y/n; he talks to Baekhyun without any concerns about being surveilled as in the manor, he is promised by his husband that no such practices will be allowed.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, controls his urge to run and pick up y/n and lock themselves in a room to never leave the bed, by constantly reimagining the night of the reception party and keeping his husband satisfied too; a single doubt of unwanted physicality can lead to a lot of assumptions and Baekhyun already slipped once when his husband notices nail marks on his back after the party. That was settled with a few nights of unwavering reverence for the body which was bound to Baekhyun as forcefully as his separation from y/n happened.

After two months of extended restrictions, y/n was allowed to visit his friends, and the first thing he did after creating facades of three to four parties was to throw a party at the same hotel and invite Baekhyun and his husband to the event too. It was just a celebration of 'close families' younger generation' that meant some of the most celebrated faces present in a hall with drinks and airs about them.

Just as y/n excused himself to use his room, Baekhyun excused himself with a smile to go to the washroom which he did not know where it was, and y/n as the good host coyly took the precedence to guide him as he would be visiting the wing with rooms.

'Hey Baekhyun, you can just use our room; you can relax there a bit too and get to know y/n; you have been persistent in meeting him; till then, let me entertain your husband.' 'What do you say hun?' Y/n's husband asked him but the younger was not ready with any response to such a situation; it was like exquisite wine being served and you taste it through your lover's mouth.

So Baekhyun did reply with a laugh, a kiss on his husband's cheek, and a warning to not steal him which y/n's husband repeated too, and they left for the rooms.

P.S.:- If you liked it, you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.

[fauslayer]

1 and 9 for the ask game? for anything, go crazy with it

its been awhile since ive crazytalked guilty gear i wanna do that again

1. the character everyone gets wrong

i think everyone expects me to say faust here and thats still true but i think. a lot of the people that actually care enough about faust to continuously talk about him are right. and the ones that arent i usually explode with my block button because like. ppl misinterpret dr baldhead because nobody cares him. thats ok. same with faust later its just that theres more people who know who he is. theyll either eventually understand him or stop talking about him. circle of life.

but. god damn. how do so little people care about and understand multiple MAIN characters of guilty gear?

i havent met a bundle of goons are frequently misinterpreted as sol and ky and at this point i WILL argue jack'o. that edgy-ass post about ky hating himself for liking men and having Yucky Extramarital Affairs XD because hes a catholic XD or whatever genuinely makes me see red and want to fucking kill people.

i know its a fighting game so every fucking ham and egger on planet earth thinks they can just turn their media literacy off except for their Special Little Blorbini (who they always ALSO misinterpret) because thats the exception to fighting game characters being BAD and for DUMB PEOPLE but if you dont engage with fucking SOL AND KY as characters youre genuinely missing so much of guilty gear. but god forbid people pay attention to Angry Brown Dude Who Surely Has Nothing Else of Value Besides His Pale Wifething or Haha White French Guy Who Certainly Doesn't Spend All of GG Trying to Better The World For Everyone Around Him No Matter What The World Throws At Him. some of you are going to hell for what youre saying about sol badguy and ky kiske that is fucking all.

9. worst part of canon

oh guilty gear strive main story like without a fucking doubt dude. sorry i ROUTINELY get on tilts about sol's story being resolved by asuka once again violating sol's bodily autonomy without his consent and instead of it being treated like a compound of all of asuka's problems and a clear showing of his flaws as a character it's celebrated and sol just throws away the life hes carved for himself through years of agony and discontent to Go Back To Being Feddy because thats clearly what the end of the xrd story implied he wanted guys. I just kinda pretend all that shit with I-No and Axl didn't happen as well to be quite honest. how was strive main story so. genuinely BAD in so many regards when another story was like. expertly crafted to be something true and beautiful. daisuke what happened. Where is Potemkin btw can we like give him a moment to himself

[b-rainlet]

Aegon would initially encourage Helaemond affair but then silently seethe in jealousy because he cannot believe Aemond does a better job at being a better lover (ffs, not in this too). Unironically, Helaemond would improve Helaegon relationship simply because Aegon would start a competition (solely existing in his head) of who can make Helaena cum more and harden which would indirectly bring Aegon and Helaena closer. And although I love an OT3 ending, Aegon would never want to share Helaena - he would be okay with extramarital sex, but Helaena loving Aemond more or even on the same level as him would never not trigger “omg mommy pls love ME” reflex in him. So he will taunt Aemond with their sister’s pussy but always remind him that she can never be truly Aemond’s. Ofc Helaena’s pussy is too addictive so he accepts and suffers in silence :) and Helaena is just a happy little bug in the middle getting extra dick every night :) :) :) Everyone suffers but her (as it should be)

This is so spot on, it may as well be what we would get if they made Helaegon vs. Helaemond canon lmao.

(This is gonna be looong so my rambles under the cut:)

Aegon absolutely cannot stand not being the center of attention and if he won't get any relief from his sexual obsession with his mother, then his sister has to be the next best thing.

At first it's like 'Why should I spent any time with Helaena, courting her or whatever, we're gonna marry anyway.' because Helaena was supposed to be his from the start so why even bother? Aegon is so used to Helaena being his mother's gift to him, he definitely takes her for granted. And there's no jealousy anywhere because nobody wants to associate with Helaena!

She's weird and she's a bit creepy with her bugs and her prophecies and any noble who ever was bewitched by her gentle nature and entertained the thought of courting her would've had second thoughts the moment Helaena would use a walk in the garden to start climbing into the bushes or digging in the dirt.

(I think Helaena would be very aware of how she's supposed to act in company of others but since Otto only ever really came back into the picture when the kids were already 10-14 and Viserys didn't really care, the greens most likely had some freedom in regards to behaving like total weirdos.

I don't know how much sense that makes since Alicent is all about duty and sacrifice but the first time we saw Aegon getting scolded it's by Otto, so I am personally believing that Alicent let her kids get away with a lot. And that aside from Aemond, both Aegon and Helaena used that to just. Be the weirdos they are.

Until Otto came along of course and started grooming Helaena to behave like a proper lady of the court).

And that's 100% the only reason Aegon (and Aemond) haven't been in any fights over Helaena's 'virtue'. If Helaena would've been more like Alicent or Sansa or Margaery, there would've been a bigger line up of people looking for the princesses favour - potentially even after Alicent announced her children's betrothal because betrothed isn't married yet and a Targaryen princess bonded to a Dragon? Always a big plus.

(There probably have been suitors - I can't believe the Lannisters wouldn't have tried - but as opposed to GoT, HotD feels...smaller? Like, I don't see any other kids at court aside from Aemond, Aegon and Helaena and that absolutely cannot be, but I guess they wanted the show to be more of a family drama. But maybe the books mention that there was no other potential suitor for Helaena and idk that because I haven't read the books, who knows).

I mean, the moment Jace dances with Helaena (which he btw only does to spite Aegon, I don't know why people seem to think he did it to make Helaena happy? He doesn't really care about her, they didn't even seem to have any kind of relationship - positive or negative - as kids, so why would his motivation lie with her and not with the Uncle he used to obviously be fond of and who now keeps belittling him in front of his betrothed) Aegon looks stunned. Like he never thought of the possibility of another man even looking at Helaena twice.

I mean, why should he? Helaena is his by all means and her being unfaithful? Will never happen. She was raised by Alicent after all and all of them now that the things Aegon does and the freedom he has hinge solely on the fact that he's a man.

Aegon and Aemond even share a look like 'Are you seeing this? Are we collectively hallucinating? What is going on??'

And to just think about this scene a little more and view it through a shippy lense: Aemond is probably also stunned and even more angry because there he is, the second son, the younger brother, the one who is so used to wanting yet never receiving unless he takes things by force - and pays for it in blood - there he is, resigning himself to a life without Helaena at his side because she was born not for him, but for his brother, swearing to himself to protect them both as best as he can (and their children) because that's the only way he can show love to either of them without it being inappropriate and what does Jace do?

The bastard who's waiting for his turn to sit the throne once again takes something he isn't privy to, yet feels entitled to possess, dancing with a married woman in front of her husband and his own betrothed (and even if he just wanted to annoy Aegon, I think not dancing with Baela first is seen as a slight within Westerosi society) without any thought of repercussions or honour.

So yeah, it's actually surprising that neither Aemond nor Aegon started a fight sooner lmao.

But I am completely going off the rails here, my point was that Aegon isn't used to sharing Helaena and that he would absolutely hate it.

And the only way I can see Aemond being a part of the Helaegon relationship is definitely if it's clear that Aegon is the favoured one. He's the one Helaena calls Husband, he's the one who is allowed to be tender with her in public (which he would be more and more the moment Aemond would be involved with Helaena because Aegon is nothing if not mean and he likes to see the way Aemond tries so very hard not to look at them, failing spectacularly each time).

Helaena can 'indulge herself' but only if Aegon is present/informed, I would even go as far as saying that Aemond has to ask Aegon for permission before making Helaena come, because a wife's pleasure is her Husband's business.

It's also clear that all the children Helaena will carry will be Aegon's and in turn, Aegon makes sure that Aemond doesn't get married off (if it's a situation where Aegon is King anyway).

That way, Aemond can forever remain by his siblings' side, just like he wants to, and his loyalties will forever lie with his family, but it also means that he will have no children of his own and that he will view his niece and nephews as his, even if he can't be as affectionate as he may want to, so not to stir up any rumours.

(It would also be fun if Aegon kept dangling the possibility of Helaena carrying Aemond's child over Aemond's head, promising him that if he is good and if he pleases Aegon, he may be allowed to sire a bastard - and Aegon would definitely make it a point to call said potential child a bastard, only to make Aemond hate himself a little more, because he doesn't want to 'defile' Helaena like that, but he already lost any honour he may have had when he followed Aegon's invitation to join them in their chambers all those years ago and the thought of getting Helaena pregnant gets him off harder than he wants to admit to himself.

And if said possibility ends up being true - if Aegon decides he has enough male heirs which would sit the throne way before Aemond's kid would have the chance - then there's the added pain of finally having a daughter (because Aemond would definitely have a daughter and spoil her to death, I don't take criticism on that), yet having to watch her call Aegon 'Daddy' and giggle as Aegon bounces her in his lap.

Aemond would definitely be the most distant with the kid he sired because he would feel constantly watched whenever he interacts with his daughter, whereas he feels a little safer being affectionate with his niece and nephews and his child would definitely grow up thinking her uncle can't stand her while Aemond is absolutely dying to be tender with her).

Anyway all this to say that you are spot on anon, I love any and all interpretations of the greens and their incest obsession (for example Aegon offering Helaena up to Aemond as a way of apologizing for not protecting him from Luke all those years ago), but based on their canon characterization, if there was the potential of Helaegond (which I don't think would ever actually happen, Aemond is too much of a good catholic boy to even think about his sister while masturbating) then it would be similar to what you described.

Maybe Aegon would approach Aemond after the dinner - after he worked through his own feelings of jealousy and realized, hey, there's very much the possibility of somebody realizing how neglected Helaena is and just. courting her behind Aegon's back - especially if Otto somehow has his hands in it.

I don't know why I am so obsessed with this premise, but Otto actively looking for and intrducing noblemen to Helaena as a way of enticing them to pledge alliance to Aegon? Stunning. At first it's the possibility of claiming a Tagaryen princess for themselves, later on it's being in the Queen's favour - and there's definitely some underlying hope there to be the one to ease the Queen's loneliness👀👀

And Aegon would have none of that. So, maybe it's actually thanks to Jace and opening Aegon's eyes that he would approach Aemond and ask him to 'entertain our dear sister so her thoughts won't stray'.

And Aemond is definitely affronted on Helaena's behalf because their sister would never. But at the same time, he's only just a man and the flesh is weak and I mean, at first it's just things like, spending time with her and the kids and keeping Helaena busy enough, she doesn't have any time for noblemen and their sharp tongues and wandering eyes.

Which quickly morphes into him staying the night in Helaena's chambers - just to make sure she's safe and sound of course, watching over her like a good brother, making sure she's actually in her and Aegon's bed while is who knows where, doing things Aemond would never dare think about.

But of course the closer the proximity, the bigger the temptation and the more Aemond sees how dismissive Aegon is of Helaena, the more he feels like their Mother made the wrong choice not marrying Helaena to him instead. He would've been a good husband, he would've made time for his children, he wouldn't be out there siring bastards and fucking whores while slurring out their Mother's name!

So the inevitable happens.

Little does Aemond know that Aegon was counting on Aemond to succumb to his desires one way or another. Aegon isn't stupid. He knows that Aemond has wanted their sister ever since they were children and he has allowed Aemond's quiet longing because he knows that Aemond is too much like their Mother to ever act on it.

Not without a little push at least.

So now Aegon has seemingly solved his little problem, because he has somebody to keep Helaena satisfied so she won't do anything unbecoming of a lady with somebody else (because if anybody would get to touch his wife in Aegon's opinion it would be their brother. He is the only one Aegon wouldn't kill for it and that's only because Aemond came from their Mother too and Aemond came after him and Helaena and if Helaena was made for Aegon, than Aemond can only be made for Aegon and Helaena.

Just like Daeron was made for Aemond).

Plus, Aemond is so torn up about it, Aegon has complete control of him. Aemond would kiss Helaena for the first time and immediately report it to Aegon, on his knees like he's confessing the gravest sin. And Aegon would get to play the benevolent god, forgiving and Aemond and even encouraging him to keep sinning, but only the way Aegon allows him too.

And it's a perfect arrangement.

Until Aegon starts feeling left out.

[tu-omnia]

wanted to throw my half-baked crimes of passion theories into the ring:

i really don't think it's vasili. i think if they want a third book trystan can't end up on the throne, but this is pb and even in a dark book they like to close on a semi-positive note. if trystan abdicates and lydea doesn't want the throne, the remaining legitimate heirs are all crazy/evil/completely unfit to rule. for closure regarding the 3 victims, the act for heir equality needs to be passed; then, vasili would then inherit the throne. and, you know, probably do a decent job. i don't see what motive he would have had, anyway.

i dont think it's marguerite, although that would be cool. i also don't think it's lydea; she's been suspicious, but her story made sense to me.

that leaves the most problematic of these problem children. i think all of them are capable of it, but honestly i dont see the motive for any of them. but it has to be one of them, right?

no the fuck it doesn't.

who else is a member of the royal family, who might have had motive for these murders?

oh yeah, the fucking KING AND QUEEN.

my money is on queen viktoria here, but there's a lot we don't know about maksim; he's a wild card, and i wouldn't be surprised if there was some digging to be done there

but queen viktoria.

motive 1: she doesn't want to see her husbands illegitimate children on the throne. duh.

motive 2, the juicier one: she didn't want her secret love-child to be revealed.

she's in an awkward position, with her husband's extramarital relationship being common knowledge

but she's maintained her grace throughout, treating eveline and her children with respect. after all, she is still queen; and it's maksim who comes off the worst in this arrangement.

if she ever had her own dalliance, who could blame her? and yet, if it came out, her reputation would very much be tarnished. in fact, it could compromise public opinion of the crown, to have it known that both the king and queen have had affairs.

now, let's assume that lydea is the love-child. trystan, viktoria's first child, is heir; when they are removed from the line of succession, lydea is next. if the act for heir equality passed, the crown would go to eveline's child. but if lydea remained the heir and then was revealed not to be the king's daughter, astrid would be the crown princess. viktoria's daughter, yes, legitimate, yes, but completely unfit to rule.

so to ensure her child's succession AND the security of the country, she needed to both doom the act, and bury the secret of lydea's heritage. and she's a true drakovian, so how does she go any it? 🔪🔪🔪

[saint-starflicker]

My Top 10 dark academia stageplays:

#10 Cleansed by Sarah Kane

This playwright is known for deconstructions of stageplays themselves. Kane's later works replaced characters with voices, or did away with settings, and became so avant-garde that they weren't shows anymore but experiences. While Cleansed still had something like a plot or characters, it's a surrealist story set at a university—according to the script—that nobody treats as a university because they're only trapped there by a serial-killer torturer man. It is gory, depending on the stage effects budget many audience members are prone to walk out, but if you can withstand the shows of violence then you might find that there is meaningfulness at every instance of it.

#9 Rope's End by Patrick Hamilton

The morality of murder as discussed by elitist post-grads. I think The Secret History fans would like this for the similar themes. There was a movie adaptation in 1948 directed by Alfred Hitchcock.

#8 The Children's Hour by Lillian Hellman

There is a movie version from 1961 that I consider "malicious compliance" to the Hays Code policy of bury-your-lesbians. The doomed-to-death character was not a bad person, and an intolerant society is worse off for having lost her.

#7 The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds by Paul Zindel

Tilly Hunsdorfer has a science fair project to put together, but her home life continues a legacy of child abuse. I have not watched the 1972 film adaptation, but the internet has informed me of its existence.

#6 The Awakening of Spring by Frank Wedekind

Written in 1891, translated into English by Edward Bond in 1974, again by Ted Hughes in 1995, and translated/adapted by Anya Reiss in 2014. When young people aren't guided and educated about facts of life that are traditionally ignored or repressed, then their actions become destructive. There was a very popular Broadway musical adaptation and American Sign Language revival, but I'm trying to keep to listing stageplays that are not musicals.

#5 Proof by David Auburn

A father and daughter duo are mathematicians who figuratively walk a tightrope between genius and madness. There was a movie adaptation in 2005.

#4 Master Class by Terrence McNally

This might not technically be a musical, because the featured songs are selected from other operas that Callas starred in, so I'm including this on the list. A retired opera singer, the legendary Maria Callas, teaches a room full of opera singers. Each song they select to perform sets off a series of monologues from the impassioned Callas about her life, portraying wartime poverty through to the betrayal of torrid love affairs, and how her voice was a gift and a curse.

#3 Educating Rita by Willy Russell

This is much more on the academia side than the dark side, but I think people that liked Dead Poets Society 1989 for the themes will like this stageplay or it's 1983 movie adaptation.

#2 Arcadia by Tom Stoppard

In the year 1809, the honorable Septimus Hodge tutors a teenaged gentlewoman with a keen interest in mathematics and physics. In 1993, two historians and a mathematician stay at the estate and try to find out what happened there between 1809 and 1813: sword duels, extramarital affairs, secret letters, famous poets, and how the brilliant Thomasina died tragically young and unsung. They clash with regards to academic "office politics" and the importance of the humanities versus the sciences.

Honorable Mentions:

The History Boys by Alan Bennett

In terms of how this stageplay and the 2006 movie adaptation tackles social issues, it's technically better than Dead Poets Society on every count: directly confronting misogyny and racism in academia, and having canonically queer boys and men in a convoluted relationship triangle as they try to prepare for university entrance examinations. There is a death. The History Boys absolutely qualifies as the genre Dark Academia. At the same time, I cannot recommend it because the way one main thread of subplot was handled really bothered me.

Picasso at the Lapin Agile by Steve Martin

While this list got much less dark from Proof on downwards, this might also be less academic. Albert Einstein and Pablo Picasso meet at a café, the eponymous "Lapin Agile", and banter with the entire cast of characters about their life and philosophies. I found the entire play both funny and fun, and I really think it gets the neurons firing in sparkly ways.

Doubt: A Parable by John Patrick Shanley

At a Catholic school, a nun tries to prevent a priest from further interfering sexually with one of their students. The stageplay keeps the audience in doubt(!) about whether or not he did what he was accused of, as the story spirals into explorations of faith, race, sexual orientation, pragmatism versus principle, and whether what we're shown in our limited ways to witness can really be what it is. There was a movie adaptation in 2008 starring Meryl Streep.

#1

I don't actually know what to put here. Recommend a stageplay that you think belongs in this spot.

[reluctantjoe]

Just a Taste (William Agar & Caroline Lessing)

Summary: "There was always something whenever these meetings occurred - a tension too sharp. Inappropriate thoughts ran wildly and freely in Caroline’s mind at even hearing William’s determined voice. She wondered if it was ever the same for him." Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Plot with references to mature subjects. Allusions to Dom!William, Sub!Caroline. Mild injuries. Implied masturbation. Allusions to jealousy. Allusions to (somewhat) jealous sex. Allusions to extramarital affair. Teasing. Implied Sub!William, Dom!Caroline. Blood kink. Word Count: 1,347 Where To Read: Ao3 | Tumblr (you're here!) A/N: My first ever pairing fic! This is an alternative ending to 'The Madman's Trial' scene in 'Quacks' where Caroline is cleaning up William's injuries. And although I feel bad for doing so, I just can't help but ship them (Sorry, Robert.) - Caroline is too good for Robert and William is too good for Mina! In an alternate universe (or hypothetical second series), William and Caroline are a couple and living their best lives! Anyway, I hope those who read this enjoy it. As always, if I have missed any Warnings, then please let me know. Any reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated! Tag List: @jamiewintons | @pink-booty-butts

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Caroline sighed as the excess water from her cloth drained into the bowl. This had become part of her weekly routine at this point. Another blood-stained cloth from another incident was beginning to form against William’s blood-stained lips. Why, oh why did he insist on getting himself into these battles when the results were always the same?

She had to admire his willingness, though. He dared to try, and he was brave to do so, knowing the insane individuals he would meet up with could (and most likely, would) cause him harm. She just wished that they didn’t. Some small part of her wished he would give up - try something new. She was tired of this weekly occurrence, and her heart broke for him when William would look at her with defeated eyes once more - another attempt to cure the mad failed.

“I’m sorry,” William winced, the cut on his lip stinging from the cloth. As much as he tried to hide the thrill of, dare say, even speaking to Caroline, the guilt of her practically becoming his nurse carried deeply. “You should be with Robert, not cleaning up a failed alienist. But you are kind enough to do this, no matter the appearance I show you every week. Thank you, Caroline.”

Despite Caroline’s ashamed thoughts of wanting William to step away from this, even just for a day, she knew that isn’t what he needed to hear right now. He needed reassurance and she was more than happy to provide that - no matter the type or repercussions.

“William, as your friend, it is my duty to care. You are so brave and what you do is extraordinary. Besides, I like taking care of you.” Caroline’s eyes met William’s and locked for a second too long.

There was always something whenever these meetings occurred - a tension too sharp. Inappropriate thoughts ran wildly and freely in Caroline’s mind at even hearing William’s determined voice. She wondered if it was ever the same for him.

Have images such as her’s ever dared to preoccupy his mind? Has he ever touched himself? Touched himself to the thought of her? Did he ever imagine the words that would be spoken into her ear, as he would run his hands down her form? Too scandalous for words, would he care that she was taken by Robert? Or would that set jealousy within - causing him to want to prove how good he could make her feel; the pleasure he could bring by his praise and worship, and the most delicate yet precise touches to the most intimate part of her body?

William’s voice brought Caroline back to reality. “Are you okay?” He asked, concernedly, “You seem to be in deep thought, Caroline. I hope my injuries haven’t disgusted you.”

It was then that she was reminded of the fight he and Harold got into during the fake trial. How helpless the crowd was; how she was. How he was. The shouting and flailing around on the floor. The punches; the gasps. The bead of blood on William’s lip that was slowly appearing by the sheer force of Harold’s outburst…

“Caroline? Caroline, are you quite alright?”

“Yes!” Caroline cleared her throat and straightened up, the continuous bending down starting to ache her lower back. “Yes, William, I am fine. Your injuries haven’t disgusted me at all. Are you turning into a mad man too?”

William chuckled at Caroline’s joke. He appreciated the humour at this embarrassing and painful time, but he also noticed a slight sense of falseness. “You seem to be a little red. Are you feeling well? Would you like me to observe you? It is the last thing I can do, I can assure you.”

Caroline went back to the bowl to soak the cloth once more. “I was just thinking back to the trial. The pure lunacy of the man! You looked so…” She tried to contain herself and her thoughts. She didn’t want to skip too far ahead to what was a frightful time for William, but God, a gorgeous mess for her. “...helpless. When Harold pushed you onto the floor and hit you. The blood…”

“Yes, it wasn’t the best sight, was it? How embarrassing of me to think I could help.”

Caroline finally squeezed the excess water back into the bowl once more, but this time, placed the cloth onto the table. She faced William and walked back to him. While attending to him, Caroline was careful not to clean up everything so quickly. She bent down again and slowly traced her finger across William’s blooded lip.

“Caroline, what are you-”

She tilted William’s chip up with her other hand, making sure his eyes were only fixated on her. On her mesmerised face. On her finger with his blood.

William’s knuckles turned white by the act. He shifted but didn’t dare to look down, as though to dismiss the shiver he felt by this new intimidating position he found himself in. A gulp came next because should he speak, he was scared of the outcome. The thought of the noise he would make sent him deeper into his perplexed yet newly founded submissive state.

“Mm, yes.” Caroline turned her attention to her blooded finger, while still holding William’s chin with her other hand. “What is it I called you earlier, William?” She circled her finger with her thumb, spreading the fluid. “Helpless?”

Caroline faced William again, the most stunned expression greeting her. She finally dropped the hand at his chin and William breathed out deeply.

What just happened? What was Caroline up to? He was stunned. He tried to compose himself. William remembered his blood was still on Caroline. His face shot up, not knowing where to begin.

“You-”

“Poor thing.” William gulped. “Oh, don’t be so nervous, William. I’m not going to hurt you.” Caroline bent down once more, but this time, made sure to get as close to William’s ear without raising suspicion to the public.

“I have a blood kink,” She breathed into his ear.

Those words sent William insane. He tried to say something, anything, but he found his throat closed up and dry; the air nearly knocked out of him by Caroline’s statement.

Caroline returned to her standing position. With only the face that could only be described as enchanted, adorned by William, she decided to take it one step further. With hesitation, she looked around, almost as if to see if the coast was clear. She locked onto William’s eyes once more and slowly put her blooded finger into her mouth. William was in a daze; hypnotised, even, by Caroline’s action. Every movement she made with her finger until his blood was on her dominant tongue was tracked by his eyes.

William was out of it. He thought this was a dream. He thought he would wake up and have to take care of things. But what Caroline did next proved to be the opposite.

With one finger now licked clean of William’s blood, there was only her thumb to go. This new found confidence Caroline had was now desperate to be shown. With less hesitation this time, she quickly glanced around, and returned her gaze to William.

Quickly and quietly, she placed her thumb onto William’s lower lip. “Open up,” She whispered. Without even realising what was happening or what he was doing, William opened his mouth and felt Caroline’s thumb in his mouth. His blood in his mouth. Caroline’s thumb, with his blood, in his mouth. He ought to find it disgusting. But he was entranced. This feeling was foreign, yet he loved it. He couldn’t help but emit a strangled whine from his throat; he prayed Caroline didn’t hear.

After she was sure the rest of William’s blood was gone, Caroline slowly removed her thumb from William’s mouth. “There we go. Thank you for being so good while I cleaned you up, William. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes? Try not to get into too many fights before then. Otherwise I may just have to clean you up again.”

[nyxknocks]

I support women's rights but most importantly I support women's wrongs. Not that I think the women in this movie did anything wrong, but if they did, I would support them. I digress.

So, I've had Ugetsu on my list of movies to watch on Max for well over a year now, couldn't remember for the life of me why. Watching it, now I do. I love me a good ol' ghost story. Too bad this left me mostly disappointed and frankly, pretty pissed off.

I didn't think I could be more annoyed at characters than Shige in Tokyo Story but I guess I forgot that men as a whole exist because wow. The men in this film suck massively. Selfishness and greed is most definitely the name of the game in this, as well as the male obsession with honor and notoriety. The two men essentially ruin their own lives (but more important the lives of their wives) in an effort to further their own selfish whims--money, status, glory, what have you.

The ending is insulting because you expect the message to at least somewhat be like "look, this is what happens when you stray from your family duties for selfish actions" but the men are fine? At the end? And they get their wives back, albeit halfway. They really made her haunt him forever and be happy about it after he wholly and fully married another lady, ghost or not. How is that justice? How does that make them learn their lesson, truly? That they can destroy everything they had and leave these women destitute and alone--one murdered while defending their son and the other having to resort to sex work after being assaulted. The lack of agency the women have is insulting even if it is period appropriate. If I died after being abandoned by my useless husband while he had an extramarital affair with a ghost, I would haunt him too but I wouldn't help him. That man would suffer every day for the rest of his life, smh. The kid can go back to the village elder, they took better care of him since clearly that dad didn't care one iota until his ghost wife and ghost home faded into ruin. Prick. "Why did you have to die" I will. Kill you.

I could not care less about the split narratives. The samurai one felt shoe-horned in and lack luster compared to the ghost one (though that could be my bias) and felt less developed. With more runtime, this probably could've been better, but alas. Disappointing.

Now. What I did like about this (besides the ghosts) was the MUSIC and AUDIO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my god the creepy little bells from the moment you meet Lady Wakasa showing off that something just isn't quite right from the jump. Her lighting and dress is often ethereal, and the way they shot Ukon during the reveal of the whole ghost-bit was amazing. She was fully in shadow looming behind Genjuro while he was getting mind freaked. This is immediately mirrored when he returns and we get Miyagi fully enshrouded with darkness/shadows with the only light being on the sandals--which further mirrors the focus shot on the sandals left in the dirt during Ohama's assault. The make up was SO effective in making Lady Wakasa just uncanny and off, really setting her apart but mostly making you believe it's her sexual allure--that she's some temptress, not a ghost. I'm also a sucker for all forms of traditional music, so that fan dance scene was easily my favorite bit. Ghost lady? Check. Fan dance? Check.

This movie does excellent at portraying both men and particularly men in power as highly aggressive, selfish, and destructive. The samurai are not protectors--they are violent men who pillage like bandits do. Dutiful wives are left behind--to their death, or to be assaulted with no option left but death or sex work--and then expected to just pick up right where they left off when the men decide they learned their lesson and are ready to come back. No lesson is truly learned. So they went back to working hard, so what? What happens a year from now, when another big sell happens or he finds another grand dream? Pull the same stuff again, expect the women to take them back? She's stuck haunting him forever man !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I call bullshit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!